


free of any eden we can name

by shrimp_princess



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, I Tried And Therefore No One Should Criticize Me.gif, M/M, Slow Burn, also i changed anathema's name to anna, also theres no shadwell youre WELCOME, anathema and aziraphale are sort of together but not really?? so i didnt tag it but whatever, and crowley is in some sort of gang, aziraphale is a Lord and crowley is a thief, crowley and aziraphale write each other letters, early 1900s AU, i apologize for any inaccuracies im terrible at research, i couldnt think of a way to add the them in here and im sad about it, i dont really know what im doing but its fine its all going to be fine, i was listening to anastasia and reading a 20s au fic and this Came to me, there are at least two musical references in this thing i am so sorry, there is one original character but he's not major, this is a first draft no one else has read it so please forgive the mistakes i inevitably made
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 35,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrimp_princess/pseuds/shrimp_princess
Summary: “Do I know you?” Aziraphale asked although he knew that he didn’t.He would have remembered this man’s hair. It was long, which wasn’t unusual, but it was also bright red. He didn’t have it pulled back, either. He looked a bit...scruffy. Surely he hadn’t been allowed into the party wearing that attire.Then again, they were standing outside.“No,” the man answered with ease.Aziraphale tore his gaze away. The man was wearing sunglasses. At night time. How ridiculous. “Well, I best be on my way.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title and epigraph are from the poem "you, therefore" by reginald shepherd

_...and you fall from the sky_

_with several flowers, words spill from your mouth_

_in waves, your lips taste like the sea, salt-sweet (trees_

_and seas have flown away, I call it_

_loving you): home is nowhere, therefore you,_

_a kind of dwell and welcome, song after all,_

_and free of any eden we can name_

\--

The _idea_ of parties did not bother Aziraphale Fell. Not at all. He liked music, and he _loved_ food, both of which were key essentials to a party. But he found himself dreading them anyway.

Going to parties meant dealing with people. And their expectations. 

He was expected to be polite. He was expected to go around and speak to people and look like he was enjoying himself. He was expected to look proper and ask an eligible lady or two to dance. He had to keep up appearances. The heir to the Fell manor couldn’t be seen as some sort of hermit. That would begin rumors. 

He could bullshit his way through the small talk really well; it was the dancing that tripped him up. It wasn’t that he was a bad dancer (he was, he just couldn’t admit it), it was the women he had to dance with that were the problem. 

They all knew who he was, the oh-so-important son of a lord, soon to inherit a great fortune, whenever his father decided to kick the bucket. 

(It seemed to him, however, that his father would live forever. He was this old and still kicking. And that was fine by him. _More_ than fine. Aziraphale was free to read as many books as he liked and go off doing whatever he pleased as his father attended to important matters. As long as Aziraphale did not embarrass the family name, not that he had ever dreamed about doing something so rebellious, he had absolutely nothing to worry about. And he liked it that way.) 

The women who approached him at these parties, however, wanted in on the fortune, on the Fell name. It led to miserable conversation.

He tried to be polite, tried not to be cruel, he really did, but this one was babbling on and on and on about perfume, and Aziraphale had never thought about perfume in his life. 

“Are you _listening_ to me?” she suddenly demanded. She was cross.

Aziraphale tried to remember her name and drew a blank. “Of course, my dear.” 

Her eyes narrowed. She was quite intimidating. Or perhaps he was tired. 

“As I was saying—” she began, and he couldn’t stop himself from sighing loudly. “Excuse me?” 

“Apologies,” he said quickly. “My apologies. It’s just. Well, it’s been a long night.” 

“Has it now?” 

Aziraphale knew he was being rude, but his best option now was to get out of there and hope he never saw her face again. “I’m terribly sorry, but would you excuse me for a moment?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, turned around, and waded through the crowd. 

His father would not be happy that he left early _(“I don’t expect a lot from you, Aziraphale. You can make yourself presentable at one social gathering.”_ ), but things had dragged out for too long. 

Aziraphale grabbed some cheese on his way out. He could enjoy that, at least.

As soon as he was outside, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was _much_ quieter out here. 

“That went down like a lead balloon.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, turning to the voice and frowning. “Excuse me?” 

The man in front of him was smiling smugly. “You and that lady. She seemed important, too.”

“Do I know you?” Aziraphale asked although he knew that he didn’t. 

He would have remembered this man’s hair. It was long, which wasn’t unusual, but it was also bright red. He didn’t have it pulled back, either. He looked a bit...scruffy. Surely he hadn’t been allowed into the party wearing that attire. 

Then again, they were standing outside.

“No,” the man answered with ease.

Aziraphale tore his gaze away. The man was wearing sunglasses. _At night time._ How ridiculous. “Well, I best be on my way.”

“Without an introduction?” 

“Places to be.” 

Aziraphale began walking home. He should have gotten a carriage, but he’d rather be out in the fresh air anyway. 

“Places more interesting than that party?” 

Oh, lord. Was that man following him? He could hear his footsteps catching up, and suddenly they were walking side by side. 

“Yes.”

“And where would that be?” 

“I’d wager it’s none of your business.” There he was, being rude again. But it really had been a long night. He’d like to be in his bed, reading a book, not having this conversation. 

The man’s eyebrows only shot up in shock. But it wasn’t because he was offended. He seemed more impressed than anything.

A couple of seconds passed. Their footsteps seemed to echo in unison on the pavement. 

And then — “Weren’t you wearing a wristwatch earlier?” 

Aziraphale turned to the man. “How did you…?”

“I notice things,” he answered quickly with a wave of his hand. “Where’d it go?” 

Aziraphale took a large bite of his cheese as if that would prevent him from answering the question. The man beside him stayed silent, awaiting an answer, so he swallowed, and said with as much confidence as he could muster, “I gave it away.” 

“You _what_?” 

“I gave it away,” he repeated. 

His father would be so angry. The watch was expensive. But Aziraphale really didn’t have a strong attachment to it, and there had been a really poor fellow out on the grounds, and Aziraphale hadn’t had any coins on him, so really there hadn’t been a choice.

The man had been shooed away after that, a disturbance to the party. It had really begun Aziraphale’s foul mood. And then that woman approached him and it went downhill from there. 

“To whom?” 

“What does it matter?” 

“I’m just curious. It looked nice.” 

“It was.” 

“And you gave it away?” 

“Yes, well, the fellow looked like he could use it more than I could. I won’t lose sleep over it.” That is unless his father brought it up. 

Perhaps he could say it was stolen. Misplaced. Or somewhere lost in his bedroom. 

Some thunder crackled up ahead as if God Herself were telling Aziraphale that She knew he was a liar. 

But then it started to rain, and Aziraphale reminded himself that it wasn’t divine intervention, but a bad stroke of luck. 

“Ah, fuck,” the man beside him swore. 

Aziraphale, pretending not to be shocked by his language, dug through his pockets. “Oh, my friend did say it would rain tonight. So I did bring…” He found what he was looking for, grinned, and opened the umbrella over their heads. 

The man discreetly and wordlessly moved closer to Aziraphale, under the hood of the umbrella. 

“I didn’t catch your name,” Aziraphale said after a few moments. 

“Crowley.” 

“Crowley?” 

“Yes. And you are?” 

_Lord Fell’s son. Heir to his fortune._ That’s what everyone knew, that’s what everyone saw. This redhead either had no idea, or was blissfully pretending that he didn’t. Aziraphale appreciated that. 

“Aziraphale.” 

He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t for Crowley to laugh. “What kind of a name is that?” 

“What kind of a name is _Crowley_?” 

Crowley paused, opened his mouth, but evidently decided that whatever snarky reply he had in mind wouldn’t cut it. “Fair point.” 

Aziraphale paused, glanced at Crowley. He was still wearing the dark lenses. “Cheese?” He held out his hand. 

Crowley stared for five seconds. Aziraphale counted. 

“No thanks.” 

More for Aziraphale. 


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley didn’t know where he was walking. All he knew was that the posh man in the ridiculous bowtie was the one with the umbrella, and he didn’t particularly want to get wet. These were his nice clothes, the only set he owned and maintained really, and getting them soaked would be a hassle. 

He’d followed Aziraphale outside when he noticed he was leaving. The expensive watch had been his goal; he could’ve pawned it and made a score.

Instead, the watch had been given away, and he was stuck in the rain. Beez would be pissed that he came back with just a handful of coins and nothing of real value. But Crowley would think of something later, something good enough to get him back in Beez’s good graces, so he wasn’t worried about it at all. 

Crowley was hardly thinking about that, though. He, surprisingly, didn’t mind listening to this guy talk. Something about a guy named Oscar Wilde. Crowley had never heard of him, but it didn’t matter. Aziraphale had good...inflection. Tone. Articulation. Whatever you wanted to call it. 

“Oh, apologies,” Aziraphale said, stopping all of a sudden. 

“What?” Crowley replied. 

“I should walk you home.”

Crowley didn’t live anywhere near here. He ran a hand through his hair. “Nah. That’s okay. Drop me off at a bar and I’ll wait for the rain to die down.” 

“I insist.” 

“Really, Aziraphale. It’s too far away from here.”

“Then I’ll call you a carriage.” 

Crowley laughed. It had been years since he rode a carriage. Something as sickeningly extravagant as that seemed absurd now. 

“What’s funny?” 

“Nothing, nothing. ‘M sorry.” Crowley reminded himself that he was talking to the elite.

Someone who had given away his watch and offered to walk him home and shared his umbrella. But Crowley wasn’t thinking about that. 

“I would offer up my place, but…” 

_ I don’t know you. You’re clearly a commoner. You reek of it. You’d rob me blind as I slept. _

“Yeah, yeah.” Aziraphale wasn’t wrong. Crowley scanned the street as best he could. There was a small gaggle of people populating the street, so he assumed that ahead there was some sort of restaurant or bar where he could wait out the rain. “I’ll just stop up there.”

“Are you certain?” 

“Yes.” 

Aziraphale started walking towards the establishment, looking at Crowley and then down to his shoes. He inhaled sharply and then blurted, “Do you go out much?” 

“What do you mean?” Crowley replied. 

“To parties.” 

A smirk escaped Crowley’s lips. “When I feel like it.” 

This one he’d snuck into. Knew a guy on the serving staff, George, and convinced him that he wasn’t some sort of scoundrel, really, he just wanted to have a good time.

He was good at spinning a tale. 

He’d had a wig (now shoved in his pocket) and everything, to distract from the hair. People might recognize his hellburnt hair. 

Aziraphale fiddled with his jacket sleeve, and Crowley watched his fingers. “So perhaps I’ll see you again.” Aziraphale’s voice was tinged with hope.

Crowley wouldn’t admit it, not to anyone, but he liked Aziraphale. He liked his white-blonde hair, the curls that encased his head, and the bowtie was really, truly growing on him. 

“Tell you what,” he said softly. They had stopped in front of the bar, so there were people around to hear them now. “You give me your address and I’ll write to you.” 

“Write to me?” Aziraphale repeated. 

“Yeah. I may not look it, but I’m not half bad at writing.” 

Aziraphale hesitated before closing the umbrella and stepping into the bar. He stole a napkin from underneath somebody’s drink, pulled out a pen from his pocket (Crowley had no idea what else this man had stored in there, from an umbrella to  _ cheese _ to the pen), and began writing. 

Aziraphale’s handwriting was swirly. Slightly messy, but it could be because he seemed to be in a hurry. When he handed the napkin to Crowley, their fingers brushed. Crowley pretended that it didn’t affect him, pretended to act indifferent about putting the napkin in his pocket even though it was the best thing he’d taken all night. 

Aziraphale turned, hesitated before he walked out the door. “You  _ will _ write? You won’t just…” 

“Would I lie to you?” 

Aziraphale gave him a shy smile. “I don’t know.” 

“I’ll write.” 

Aziraphale gave him one last nod, and his hair caught a light from inside the bar. For a second, it looked like he was glowing, like there was a halo on his head.

Crowley had to clench his jaw to keep his mouth closed. 

But then Aziraphale turned and left, leaving Crowley with the impression of an angel.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a knock on Aziraphale’s door. Three knocks to be precise, so it was definitely Tracy. She always knocked three times. 

“Come in,” Aziraphale said, setting down his book. 

“You have a letter.” 

Aziraphale put minimum effort into trying to contain his excitement. He leaped out of his seat and took the letter from her hands. 

He began to tear it open before realizing that she was still standing in his room, watching him quizzically. 

“Thank you,” he said quickly, implying that she should leave. 

She paid his words no attention. “Who’s it from?” 

Tracy was the curious type. Aziraphale’s father thought she was much too talkative for a maid, but Aziraphale liked having her around. Even if she snooped. 

Crowley’s name was listed on the return address. Just Crowley.  _ 666 Bentley Drive.  _

“An acquaintance.” 

“You were that excited about—” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale ushered her towards the door. He’d been waiting for this letter for three days. 

“Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” 

Always one for the drama. Aziraphale was too busy reading to give her a response. 

_ To Mr. Aziraphale... Well, I suppose I never caught your last name, _

_ I’m afraid that I may have told you a lie last night. I said I wasn’t half bad at writing, but I’ve sat at this desk for thirty minutes, and I have no idea what to say.  _

_ A polite person would probably thank you for sharing your umbrella or ask you how you are, but that would make a boring letter. Instead, I am going to inquire of you what plans you have next Saturday night.  _

_ You asked me if I went to parties much. I don’t really. Not your kind of parties. I must admit that I have a reputation of being a bit of a scoundrel, but you strike me as the type that doesn’t seem to care. I’d love to take you to a party where there’s a lot more alcohol and a lot better conversation. _

_ -C _

_ PS: Do you always wear bowties? _

Aziraphale read it three times. He imagined Crowley hunched over at a desk, furiously scribbling. Did he write it by candlelight? Or did he wait until the sun was shining through a window? 

He glanced down at himself. He  _ did _ wear bowties quite a lot. 

And with that, he started his reply. 

… 

Crowley worked hard for privacy. He was good at what he did, but really, how hard was it to scam rich people into dropping their wallets? Give ‘em a glance at his eyes, tell ‘em it’s contagious and they’ll do whatever he wants. 

Crowley insisted that it was essential to his creative processes that he have his own space. Hastur told him to fuck off, but Beez found a cheap place. It was a hellhole, but it was  _ his _ hellhole. He had his own set of keys and everything. 

And a mailslot. 

Which he’d never used before. No one had ever written to him. A part of him thought Aziraphale wouldn’t write back. Maybe his letter got lost in the mail, maybe it was too short, maybe Aziraphale realized that it was a waste of his time. 

But come Tuesday morning, there was an envelope waiting for him. 

It looked much nicer than the one Crowley had sent. Crowley had gone out and bought a package of envelopes (the cheap ones), and some paper, too; he didn’t have any of that. 

It didn’t surprise him that Aziraphale had nicer things. He should’ve just snagged the better-looking envelopes. No need to broadcast the dump he lived in. 

Aziraphale  _ must _ know, having seen him in a dress shirt that was over five years old, wrinkled and too big for him. 

But he’d written back.

Crowley picked up the envelope. It felt heavier than any envelope should. This envelope was something  _ important. _ Something that he should cherish. 

He was scared to open it. Scared to rip the paper that looked so nice. 

Crowley had kept the napkin. He could’ve burned it, thrown it away, it was only a napkin, but he’d taken it and hid it under a floorboard. It had been given to him. And not like the flat had been given to him with conditions and  _ don’t you dare _ s and strict warnings. Aziraphale had simply handed it to him, begged him to write. 

_ Wanted _ him to write. 

Slowly, Crowley tore open the envelope. It was hard to swallow. 

Three pages were stuffed inside. Crowley couldn’t write three pages about anything. 

_ Dearest Crowley,  _

Crowley put the pages down. This was a bad idea. A truly terrible idea. Aziraphale was important. And he was nice. Crowley didn’t think he’d ever met an important, nice person. He was just going to screw this up. 

But then he looked again, and he couldn’t stop reading. 

Aziraphale went on and on about his bowtie (which he did indeed wear quite often), and then abruptly changed the topic to suspenders. 

_ And I must be boring you… _

Crowley had never thought this much about clothing in his life. But he was far from bored. 

Aziraphale’s handwriting was easy to read. Maybe not the neatest, but still easy. Crowley had done his best with his letter, but penmanship had never been his strong suit. 

Finally, on the last page:

_ As for Saturday night, I would be thrilled to join you. I’m not much of a socialite, I’m afraid (as you, unfortunately, saw at the Duke’s Ball. I assure you, I’m not usually that improper). _

_ But perhaps if I’m dancing with you, I won’t be bothered. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Aziraphale  _

Crowley read the last sentence over and over. All the talk of bowties and suspenders and that theology book Aziraphale had started must have clogged his head. Made reading impossible.

But no. Aziraphale had said  _ dancing with you. _

In a letter. Addressed to Crowley. 

Crowley thought of his curls caught in the lights of the bar, his smile, the way he’d offered Crowley a piece of cheese and shared his umbrella without a second thought and sent him a  _ three-page letter _ . 

“You’re being ridiculous,” he muttered, folding up the letter and shoving it back in the envelope. 

He barely knew the man. 

But they were going out on Saturday. 

Crowley slowly made his way over to where he kept his new paper, his one pen. When he wrote Aziraphale’s name, it felt like writing so much more. It felt like pouring out his soul in a single word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok the 666 is definitely tacky but i couldn't think of another number. this is me apologizing.


	4. Chapter 4

“Did I tell you that you looked like an angel?” 

Crowley was sloshed. He’d drunk a lot, so it wasn’t surprising. And Aziraphale had consumed enough to feel a pleasant buzz, to enjoy himself. 

“A what?” Aziraphale replied. Crowley’s hair was sticking to his forehead. They’d danced. Not really together, there were a lot of people out there, but they hadn’t danced with anyone else, either. 

“An  _ angel. _ You know. With the-the halos. And wings.” 

“I was under the impression that angels were rather scary looking.” 

“What’re you talking about?” Crowley leaned against his shoulder. 

They weren’t in the best part of town. No one recognized Aziraphale here, had an inkling of who he was. Probably. (He prayed they didn’t.)

Aziraphale could have reached up to brush Crowley’s hair and nobody would have batted an eyelash. But he clenched his fists to his sides anyway.

_ Can’t risk it. _

“Angels. They have loads of limbs. And eyes, I think. All the shepherds were afraid of them.” 

“Shepherds?” Crowley sat up. Even with the glasses on, he really was peculiar wearing those glasses everywhere he went, Aziraphale could see the shape of his eyebrows.

“Yes. In the Bible.” 

Crowley dismissed him with a wave of his hand, letting out an unintelligent, “Pshhhh.” 

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley’s head was turned away from him, transfixed on the wall in front of them. 

“Bible, shmible,” Crowley continued. “No one cares about that book.” 

“I’d say plenty of people care, my dear.” 

“Nah. Nah, they got angels all wrong.” 

“Did they?” 

And then Crowley’s attention was back on Aziraphale. “Yeah.” 

Aziraphale didn’t know where he was looking, not really. His stomach dropped as he imagined Crowley transfixed on his lips. 

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Aziraphale asked quietly. 

They were still in the loud bar, but they were close enough together that Aziraphale didn’t have to speak too loudly. 

“Sure, angel.” 

_ Drunk. He is drunk. _

“Why do you wear those glasses?” 

Crowley smirked. “Makes me mysterious.” 

“Really?” 

“Well, you’re asking about it. ’M a very mysterious man.” 

“You’re ridiculous, is what you are.” 

Crowley hummed, leaned in closer. “Do you wanna go somewhere?” 

Aziraphale’s fingernails bit into his palm. He would not look at Crowley’s lips. He would not. Even if they seemed inviting.

“Depends.”

“You’ll like it.” Crowley stood up, extended his arm. “Promise.” 

“It’s already been a long night—” 

“You got someplace to be?” 

“Well, no. But you’re drunk.” 

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “I can walk. And I want to  _ show you something. _ ” 

He was terribly insistent and was attached to Aziraphale by linked arms, so Aziraphale couldn’t resist. It would be rude to resist. 

“Will you tell me where we’re going at least?” 

Another one of Crowley’s smirks. He was good at that. The smirking. It made Aziraphale think things he really, really shouldn’t. 

“Nope.” 

Aziraphale was worried that someone would see their arms linked and think they were up to something unsavory, but he didn’t want to pull away. If someone asked, he could say he was simply giving his friend support. Crowley  _ was _ very drunk. 

Aziraphale watched the buildings pass in the dim streetlight as other night owls roamed around them, some of them drunker than Crowley. 

“You’re quiet,” Crowley commented. He whispered it, his mouth close enough to Aziraphale’s ear that it gave him goosebumps. 

“How do you know I’m not normally quiet?”

Their arms were still linked, so Aziraphale  _ felt _ Crowley laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in the way where one would laugh at an inside joke. He knew Aziraphale was lying. “You wrote me a three-page letter.” 

“Well. That was actually the condensed version.” 

Crowley turned his head towards him, hints of a smile still visible in his features. “What d’ya mean?” 

“The first draft was significantly longer. I really  _ did _ try to spare you. I got a bit carried away.” 

Crowley did not hesitate in his reply. “I didn’t mind.” His voice was soft, full of honey. 

“Oh.” 

Before Aziraphale could think of a more dignified reply, Crowley stopped in his tracks. “Here.”

“Where?”

Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s arm and began stumbling down a dark alley. 

“It’s creepy back there.” 

Crowley spun around, spreading his arms. “I’ll protect you.” 

Aziraphale chuckled, trying to imagine the scrawny man in front of him fighting back against any threats that might be lurking. 

“I  _ will _ ,” Crowley insisted. “I can hold my own.”

“What could possibly be back there?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley took a step back towards him. “I could hold your hand if you’re scared.” 

Aziraphale's response was automatic. “That’s quite alright.” And then, just to prove that he wasn’t some sort of coward, he followed Crowley into the alley.

“I come here, sometimes,” Crowley said into the darkness. “When I can. It’s beautiful. I think you’d like it. I think. Maybe you’ve been here before. You seem like the type of person…” 

He stopped in front of a door. He didn’t even try to open it before he pulled out what Aziraphale assumed was a lockpick. 

“Are we trespassing?” Aziraphale whispered. 

“Yes. But I’ve done this a million times. Nobody’s here past eight.” 

That didn’t alleviate Aziraphale’s anxiety, but he kept it to himself. The door was open now, anyway. 

Crowley ushered him inside, closed the door behind him. Only then did Aziraphale realize that they weren’t, in fact, sneaking into any ordinary building. No, this was some sort of botanical garden. 

The moon decided to grace them with its presence, peeking out from behind a cloud. It was the only light available since the garden was closed. 

But it was beautiful. Aziraphale noticed a set of red and white flowers to his right and was immediately drawn to them. As soon as he got there, however, he noticed the sound of a bubbling stream nearby. And then there were trees, massive trees that Aziraphale could have never imagined himself. They came straight out of a novel, or a portrait of the jungle.

It was like they had left the city entirely. They were alone here in this sphere, surrounded by the most exquisite life Aziraphale had ever seen. 

He turned to Crowley, realizing that he was staring at him. Glasses still on, but his entire body turned towards Aziraphale. 

“You like it here, too?” 

Aziraphale loved his soft voice. It wasn’t meant for anyone else to hear, even if they were alone. It reminded Aziraphale of a comforting cup of tea.

“It’s lovely.”

Crowley beamed. Not smirked. His face split into the most genuine smile Aziraphale had ever seen. 

“It’s packed during the day. And you have to  _ pay _ to get in, so it’s rubbish. But they don’t even guard it at night.” He spun around, located a bench, and draped himself across it like a forlorn maiden would in a painting. He somehow made it work. 

“Who owns it?” 

“Dunno.”

Aziraphale took a seat on the far end of the bench, where Crowley’s sprawling hadn’t reached. He stared straight across, where the biggest tree inside the garden was planted. “I could sit here for hours.” 

“Me too.” 

“Do you ever think about how there are some trees that are hundreds of years old? There are trees alive today that were around before some countries were. And those same trees will survive for hundreds of years more. They’re wonderful, truly. And there are so many different species. I read some scientific journal where a man was cataloging the species he found on an expedition, and the variety was incredible. Not to mention the trees that lose their leaves in the fall and then grow them all back, every single year. They die every winter and remake themselves. Oh, Crowley—” 

Aziraphale turned and realized that Crowley had sat up, scooted closer to Aziraphale. 

“I apologize,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I’m rambling.” 

“You have a nice voice.” 

_ He’s drunk _ , Aziraphale reminded himself for the umpteenth time. 

Crowley opened his mouth, hesitated, and then asked, “Would you be angry if I kissed you?” 

Aziraphale’s heart did a double-take. 

_ No one is here. No one is here, and he’s already leaned in a little bit, and if I kiss him, I could put my hands in his red, red hair, and— _

Aziraphale’s mouth reacted faster than he could reason through it, though. “We hardly know each other.” 

Crowley slouched. It was almost imperceptible. “I know.” 

Aziraphale turned back to the tree. It was silent. Not even a breeze swaying the leaves to make a sound. 

Aziraphale was the one to speak first. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” 

He could see Crowley’s mouth opened in shock out of the corner of his eye. “Never?”

“No.” He paused. “It sounds nice. The  _ idea _ of it, that two people could...could feel such an attraction to each other and enjoy it. It’s an expression of love. I’m certain I’d be rotten at it.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re good at everything.”

Aziraphale smiled, despite the fact that Crowley didn’t know what he was talking about. “Very kind of you.”

Crowley stood up all of a sudden, startling Aziraphale. He made a beeline for the tree, not even turning to say anything to Aziraphale. 

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale called after it. 

“Gonna climb it.” 

Aziraphale jumped to his feet. “I don’t believe that’s such a good idea, Crowley.” 

Crowley already had a foot on one of the lower branches. “Done it before.” 

“You could get hurt. You’re drunk.”

“Tipsy.” 

Aziraphale reached the tree. “Crowley!” 

And to his surprise, Crowley stopped. He was still off the ground, but he sat down and dangled his legs. His feet reached Aziraphale’s face. He seemed somber for a moment, but then he smirked. “Watch this.” 

Before Aziraphale could ask him what exactly he was going to do, he leaned forward, far enough where he tipped and fell. 

Aziraphale cried out, expecting to see Crowley fall and crack his head open on the floor, and then what would he have done? Called the police and admitted that he was trespassing? And what if they asked what the two men had been doing alone in a garden, anyway?

But Crowley was still intact, hanging upside down. Since he was now facing the other way, Aziraphale had to walk under him to see his face. 

Crowley was laughing. Aziraphale crossed his arms. 

“Should’ve seen your face,” Crowley giggled. And, really, if Aziraphale hadn’t been scared out of his mind two seconds ago, he would’ve enjoyed the moment, the amusing sounds coming out of Crowley’s mouth. 

If he hadn’t been so annoyed, he might have noticed Crowley’s hair pooling underneath him, as if someone had taken a candle and flipped it upside down, still aflame. He would have seen the light freckles dotted on Crowley’s face or the mole on his shoulder. 

“Angel?” Crowley said, losing the grin. 

Aziraphale hesitated. He opened his mouth, he wasn’t sure what he thought he was going to say but thought better of it. So he leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on Crowley’s cheek. 

He didn’t wait to see Crowley’s reaction. He walked under the branch again, back to the bench. 


	5. Chapter 5

“You look terrible.” Beez was at his door again, probably to complain about what a shitty job he was doing, how he hadn’t checked in for a while.

Crowley glared at her. She couldn’t tell, not when he was wearing his glasses. 

“Go out last night?” She invited herself inside, and he couldn’t protest or argue. She was paying for the place, after all. 

“Yeah,” he answered. 

“Anything I should know about?”

Crowley glanced down at the floorboards. There was nothing to suggest he was hiding anything under them. He just had to keep his cool. 

He dared not even think of Aziraphale’s name. It was ridiculous, but sometimes it felt like Beez could see into his mind. 

“Nope. All good here.” 

She was surveying the room. Crowley didn’t have an inkling of what she thought she might find. 

“I gave you this place because  _ you _ said it would be helpful.” 

“It is.” 

“You’ve been less active lately. I’m growing concerned about you.” 

The last thing she was was worried about Crowley’s wellbeing. She was worried about losing a vital member of the team. Crowley was a lot smarter than the rest of them. Probably the only one besides Beez that could read. 

Beez finally turned to Crowley, staring at him, piercing his soul with her cold, dead eyes. “Do not forget that you cannot go home. We’re your family now.” 

“I know.” 

She patted his shoulder, which would normally be a comforting gesture, but it felt hollow coming from her. “I expect you at dinner tonight.” 

“Of course.” 

She nodded once. He thought she would leave and he could go back to nursing his hangover, but she stopped at his desk. 

“Picked up a writing hobby?” 

“What?” 

“You’ve bought a pen.” 

Crowley’s insides twisted. Beez would want to exploit Aziraphale. But that made Crowley feel sick as he pictured Aziraphale’s perfectly round face, his white curls, his blue eyes, the way he looked upside down, leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to Crowley’s cheek—

_ Shut up! _ Crowley snapped in his mind. 

“Oh. Writing, yes.” 

“Tell me it’s not poetry.” 

Crowley wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Definitely not poetry.” 

“Clean yourself up.” 

And finally,  _ finally, _ she left. Crowley didn’t relax until she’d been gone for a few minutes. He ran a hand through his hair. He was a disaster and battling a massive headache. He’d definitely had one too many drinks last night. 

At least he remembered the night. Even if he had acted a bit stupid. Aziraphale had kissed him, so something he said must have worked. 

Crowley couldn’t remember his heart feeling this  _ light _ . He couldn’t remember a time where he had smiled that big or cared that much about the effects of the gold standard on economics.

And he had never, ever taken anyone else to his garden. 

_ Not your garden anymore. _

“Fuck off,” he whispered to the negative, nagging part of his brain.

He turned around, fully intent on purging himself from thoughts of the garden, of Aziraphale, of this goddamned headache. He had things to accomplish. 

… 

_ Crowley,  _

_ Is that your surname? A nickname? Or did your parents truly name you Crowley? I’ve been curious. I often ponder the use of names. My parents decided on Aziraphale, of all the names in the world, and it’s quite ridiculous. The boys in primary school called me Az; they said Aziraphale was much too long and too hard to pronounce. I say they were lazy, but I rather liked it when you called me angel, even if you were drunk.  _

_ You haven’t written again. I do hope everything is well. You’ve occupied most of my thoughts as of late and I should like to see you again soon. I’m fond of crepes, or a walk through a park, or whatever you should like to do.  _

_ I keep thinking about your smile. I hope that isn’t too straightforward, but you were positively glowing that night. I like to think you know a lot about all the plants in there, as you’d gone before. We should go again, someday. I admit I am quite clueless when it comes to any sort of gardening, but it was beautiful inside. I was particularly drawn to the red and white flowers. Do you remember what they were?  _

_ This will sound ridiculous, I am fully aware that we’ve only known each other for three weeks, but I miss you. (I hope that is okay to say.) I enjoy your company, and I do wish that you will write back.  _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Aziraphale _

… 

_ Angel, _

_ Bit of a short letter there. Ran out of time to tell me a tale about the nuanced themes of Hamlet? I was sure you’d bring it up after the mention of the flowers.  _

_ They were striped carnations, by the way. They’ve got a pretty negative connotation, but I agree that they are gorgeous.  _

_ As for my lack of correspondence, I have been busy. Hopefully not too busy to arrange an outing with you. I enjoy your company, as well.  _

_ -C _


	6. Chapter 6

“You must really like him.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth. Harry had that look about him. The  _ I’m Up To No Good _ look that made Aziraphale’s father complain that he was a bad influence. He wasn’t wrong, but Aziraphale had known him since they were children. And Harry came from an influential family, so his father couldn’t allow him to completely cut ties.

Today, Aziraphale had been speaking to Harry about Crowley. Very casually, he might add. 

Crowley had somehow slithered into Aziraphale’s routine. They would go out whenever they had a chance: to parks, to restaurants, to garden upon garden upon garden. It seemed like Crowley knew every beautiful spot in the city. 

(Crowley was sometimes busy with “work matters,” which he refused to discuss with Aziraphale, but Aziraphale had gotten used to him avoiding subjects surrounding his name, his family, his past. Once he knew these boundaries, he didn’t dare push him.) 

But most of the time, they were at Aziraphale’s place. Only ever on the first floor, only ever on the right wing (where Aziraphale’s father never came, where Tracy was pretty much the only other person that would see him), and only if Aziraphale invited him inside with the promise of a drink. 

Crowley seemed uncomfortable in his house. It would take a few drinks before he would relax. He always sat in the same chair. Aziraphale was beginning to think of it as _Crowley’s_ _chair_. It was smaller than the others, but he sprawled across it anyway, his paper thin body stretching indecorously upon the furniture. 

Aziraphale never minded.

They wrote letters to each other. Crowley’s letters steadily grew longer and longer. He had lots to say once you got him going. Aziraphale found it charming. 

He kept each of Crowley’s letters in his desk drawer. If too many days went by without receiving one, he’d take out a previous letter and reread it. 

He asked Crowley once if he kept his letters. Crowley hadn’t answered. It was fine, Aziraphale told himself. They weren’t of any importance, most of them were too long and full of long-winded explanations that nobody would want to reread. 

Aziraphale snapped back into reality, focusing on Harry’s face. “Of course I like him. He’s…”  _ Handsome? Charming?  _ “...my friend.” 

Harry’s look wasn’t going away. “Yeah?” 

Aziraphale tried not to think about Crowley asking for a kiss. Of Aziraphale kissing  _ him. _ They’d drunk a lot that night. Nothing of the kissing had been spoken of again, not in their letters or anywhere else. 

In fact, he really couldn’t be thinking about kissing Crowley at all. What a scandal that would cause. 

“Yes, in fact,” Aziraphale replied. “You’d like him. He’s...more your speed.” 

“We’ve spent the last…” Harry glanced at the grandfather clock. “Thirty two minutes talking about him. So I am intrigued.” 

Aziraphale hoped he wasn’t turning pink. “Yes. Well. Maybe he will find the time to accompany us some time.” He stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m in the middle of quite an important reading.” 

“I swear, Az if you’re rereading Pride and Prejudice  _ again— _ ” 

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.” 

Harry stood up, a knowing smile on his face. “You should invite Crowley to the ball.” 

“I don’t think he’d like that very much.” 

Crowley would complain about how needlessly extravagant the whole thing was, how stuck up and obnoxious everyone would be, and how utterly, brainrottingly dull it would be.

_ There are more exciting ways for me to spend my time, angel, _ he’d say. 

“You would actually have fun if Crowley were there,” Harry insisted.

“I have fun.” 

This was a lie. Harry was usually at these social events, but he was inclined to galavant off with anyone who struck his fancy, leaving Aziraphale at the mercy of the rest of the attendees. It was rare for Aziraphale to have a good time, and it was only if the selection at the food table was particularly excellent.

“The pout on your face really sells that.” Harry patted Aziraphale’s cheek. “I’ll leave you to Jane Austen.” 

… 

Crowley had his legs swung over one arm of his chair, his head dangling over the other. He watched Aziraphale, who was upside down, fiddling with the rim of his cup as he spoke. Crowley liked the way his mouth looked from here. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about Aziraphale’s mouth, but it wasn’t like Aziraphale could  _ tell _ . 

Crowley hadn’t asked to kiss him again. He wanted to, more than anything, but he didn’t want to scare him off. He could wait. 

A couple weeks ago, Aziraphale had invited him to the manor for the first time, and Crowley had almost shit a brick. 

He really should have recognized Aziraphale the moment he saw him at the party. The same blonde curls as his father, his mother’s eyes. Of  _ course _ he was a Fell, one of the richest and well-known families in the city. 

But, honestly, as long as Aziraphale’s father never saw Crowley, there wasn’t a problem. That’s what Crowley told himself because he was growing too fond of Aziraphale’s company, too used to getting a letter every week. 

Aziraphale seemed to think the same way, as they stayed exclusively in what Crowley imagined was Aziraphale’s side of the manor. This thing they had, it was fragile, and Crowley was walking carefully, trying so very hard not to shatter it. He was not of high society, and it would be improper for Aziraphale to associate himself with Crowley. They both knew this. Crowley just knew it a lot better. 

Suddenly, Aziraphale was staring at him. Crowley must have missed something.

“Sorry.” He sat up, hoping that would help him concentrate on Aziraphale’s words, rather than zoning out. “What was that?” 

“Would you…” He was nervous, poor thing. Crowley leaned forward, expectant. “Would you care to join me at the ball on Saturday?” 

Not the question Crowley wished he would’ve asked. “ _ The _ ball. Sounds important.” 

Aziraphale smiled, but it seemed strained. “Only a bit.” 

Crowley smirked. “Bringing me would cause an uproar.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks were flooded with color. “Well—I didn’t mean—not like  _ that _ . It-it’s just I thought that… I’m often miserable at these sorts of events, but the thing is, you see, I enjoy myself...with you.” 

Aziraphale never stumbled over his words, unless he was really drunk, which Crowley had only ever had the pleasure of being around for once before. 

Crowley caught himself staring again. A strange feeling he didn’t want to acknowledge had begun to accumulate in his chest. 

_ I wish I could kiss you. I wish you weren’t so nervous to ask me to go with you. I wish— _

He cleared his throat. He didn’t dare hope for these things. 

“Where is it?” He had to ask. Just in case. It was that time of year, but maybe for once Crowley would have a stroke of luck, and Aziraphale wouldn’t be referring to the ball Crowley absolutely could not go near. 

“Not very far from here. There’s a  _ lovely _ home on Caelestis Avenue.” Crowley’s heart pounded, but he couldn’t react. Couldn’t flinch. “Every year the Devices throw a ball. My father knows them better than I do, but really he knows everyone. I’m sure you’d think they’re ridiculous and wasteful, but surely you could stand it for one night. They do have the most beautiful grounds, Crowley, you would love it. And their art collection—they always display it during these things—it’s quite extensive. Do you like art?” Aziraphale stopped. 

Crowley had to think of an answer, any sort of response, but dread had filled his entire body. 

A couple seconds passed. “Are you alright, my dear? You look a bit pale.” 

Was Crowley breathing? He felt like he wasn’t. Hadn’t since Aziraphale had mentioned  _ Caelestis _ . “I can’t go.” 

Aziraphale’s entire body seemed to crumple. “Oh.” 

Crowley immediately regretted opening his mouth, regretted coming here. He was a disappointment, a sorry excuse for a friend. 

“May I...may I ask why?” Aziraphale spoke softly. Crowley imagined that was what he sounded like in the morning before he’d fully awoken. Less sad, though. 

He didn’t know how to answer. He dug his fingernails into his palm to keep himself from running a hand through his hair, knowing it was a nervous habit. 

The right thing to do would be to come clean. Admit to Aziraphale that he hadn’t always been a commoner, he’d once had a place here in Aziraphale’s world. 

Now he couldn’t go to some parties or meet with certain people or wander through some parts of town, especially not with Aziraphale. Crowley would never risk Aziraphale’s reputation like that. 

“It wouldn’t end well for us,” Crowley finally answered. 

“My dear, there will be so many people there—” 

“I can’t go.” 

Crowley hated himself. Hated the way Aziraphale was so crestfallen because of  _ him,  _ because of what he’d  _ said. _

This was what he was. An asshole.

“That’s alright,” Aziraphale told him, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t alright at all and Crowley had fucked it up like he always did, and the best thing in his life was going to be ripped away like wings from a bird, and Crowley could feel it, feel the blood gush down his back and the loss of the potential of what could have been and the  _ pain _ . 

He stood up. “I should go.” 

“You don’t have to—”

“I  _ should _ .” 

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ll see you some other time, then.” 

Before Crowley could begin to drag himself out the door, injured and dying, Aziraphale got to his feet, too, standing in front of Crowley. 

“If there’s something you would like to talk about—” 

“No.”  _ That was rude. _ “Thank you. But, no.” 

Aziraphale took his hand. All the breath in his lungs seemed to disappear. Aziraphale was touching him, and they weren’t drunk, and it was intentional. 

“I’m here for you.” 

Part of Crowley wanted to stay. If he stayed, he could keep his hand in Aziraphale’s. But he didn’t want to tell Aziraphale. He couldn’t. 

With all the courage he could muster, he drew his hand away. And then, stupidly, said, “I’ll write.” 

And then he left.


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley didn’t trust him. It shouldn’t upset Aziraphale in the way that it did, but something in his chest squeezed up when he thought about how Crowley had gotten up and left without a proper explanation. 

Of course, he was entitled to his privacy. He didn’t have to tell Aziraphale anything at all, but it didn’t make Aziraphale feel any better. It made Aziraphale want—

Well, he couldn’t be entirely sure what he wanted. He  _ wanted _ Crowley to talk to him, to take him back out to that garden when the moon was bright and tell him everything he knew about the world. 

Crowley had mentioned that he’d only ever left London once. Aziraphale tried to pry answers out of him, but he’d said it was unimportant. 

_ “Trust me, angel, it was nothing exciting.” _

_ Aziraphale didn’t believe that, but there was no convincing Crowley to explain anything he didn’t want to. “Sometimes I think about traveling.” _

_ Crowley’s smirk was imprinted into Aziraphale’s mind. “Where would you go?” _

_ “Rome. Definitely Rome. Or Paris.” And then Aziraphale had gone on to list an embarrassing amount of places that he knew was unattainable to see. It was still fun to dream. _

_ Crowley watched Aziraphale carefully. He had his glasses on, always did, but Aziraphale could tell. There was a lull in the conversation, but Crowley never shifted his gaze.  _

_ “Why haven’t you gone? You have the money.”  _

_ “Oh.” Aziraphale found an interesting spot on the wall. “Wouldn’t want to go alone. My father prefers not to travel, and Harry is quite fond of London. And as much as I like Tracy, I don’t feel as if she’d be the easiest traveling partner.” It was embarrassing to admit that they were all he had. _

_ Crowley only leaned back. _

Aziraphale should really, really stop thinking about Crowley, the shape of his legs as he sat and the shape of his lips when he smirked. 

He sighed. 

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” a voice came from Aziraphale’s left and he was forced to remember that he was at the ball. 

Sort of. He was moping out on the grounds, which were practically empty, except for the woman standing in front of him, peculiarly dressed in black.

“Pardon?” Aziraphale replied, thinking he’d missed something. 

“That’s my sulking spot.” Her brown eyes glistened behind her glasses, and Aziraphale realized she was joking. 

“I am not sulking.” 

She invited herself to sit next to him. “No? You’ve got this furrow between your brows.”

Aziraphale reached up to touch it as if trying to smooth it out. 

“The party’s that bad, then?” 

Aziraphale, in truth, hadn’t stayed more than ten minutes inside. He liked it out here, where he could think in peace. 

(And it reminded him of Crowley. Although he wasn’t thinking pleasant thoughts about the man, there was still a sense of calm in this green area, this place Crowley would call his own.)

“The party is just fine,” Aziraphale responded. He glanced back at the manor, which seemed inviting. Bright lights and people milling about. “Why did  _ you _ leave?” 

She slumped, much like Crowley did whenever he was sitting. It was very unladylike, not that Aziraphale would ever say that out loud. 

“My  _ father _ ,” she said with distaste. “Is a bloody tyrant.” 

“What did he do?” 

“Just his usual lectures.  _ Work on your manners, Anna. _ ” Her voice shifted to a humorous, deep tone. _ “Go find someone to dance with, Anna. You should’ve been married by now, Anna. _ ”

“He sounds fun.”

“Oh, he’s a riot.” There was a short pause before she extended her hand. “Anna Device.”

Aziraphale took it. “Aziraphale Fell.”

“And why are you out here, Mr. Fell?”

“I’m not fond of dancing.”

“Really?” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Do I look like a dancer?” 

“I try not to judge people based on what they look like. However, you still look miserable.” 

He turned his gaze away from her. Attempted to get rid of the crease between his brows. “It’s nothing.” 

He could see Anna plotting next to him. He almost dreaded what she was going to say next if she was going to say they should go back inside to the party, but instead, she sat up. “Do you wanna see something?” 

“If it requires getting off the sulking bench, I’m not too keen—”

“Oh, come  _ on. _ I promise no one else will be there.” She was tugging his arm and, really, it would be rude of him to refuse again. 

That was how he found himself holding hands with a woman. Instead of a pleasant stroll through the gardens, however, she took off in a run, pulling Aziraphale behind her. She was in a lot better shape than Aziraphale had ever been and he was wheezing by the time they stopped. 

Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her shoes. Aziraphale’s shoes were simply filthy.

Anna was laughing at him. He took a seat on the ground, his trousers be damned. He needed to catch his breath. Anna sat down next to him. “Feel any better?” 

“I feel—” he gasped. “—awful.” 

She patted his back. “You should get out more.” 

Aziraphale finally looked up at where they were. An old cottage. Two floors. It definitely wasn’t lived in, though. It was dark, and vines grew all over. 

“You wanted me to see this cottage?” 

“Yeah. It’s on the edge of the grounds. No one comes out here. It’s where you can get up to some mischief.” 

“What sort of mischief are you referring to?” 

Anna stood up and offered her hand to Aziraphale. He hesitated. He didn’t know this woman, he didn’t know what she was implying. 

But he ended up taking it anyway. 

She opened the door to the cottage; it wasn’t locked. The inside wasn’t as rundown as Aziraphale would have expected. Anna lit a candle and opened a cupboard that revealed copious amounts of alcohol, grinning at Aziraphale. 

“Oh, excellent,” Aziraphale said, grabbing the first bottle he could reach. 

There weren’t glasses so they just drank from the bottle. It worked for Aziraphale. He’d never really done this before. (Well, once or twice with Crowley, but that had been at his own house. This was different.)

Midway through the bottle, Anna pulled out a book from underneath the sofa. “I can tell you your future,” she said in all seriousness. 

Aziraphale laughed. “Really?” 

Anna nodded and opened up her book. It was an old book. Aziraphale craned his neck to look at the title, ever curious. 

“Give me your hand.” 

Aziraphale didn’t hesitate. She ran her hands over his palm before squinting at the book. 

“Are you trying to read my palm?” 

Tracy had done it before. In fact, she’d done a  _ lot _ of strange things. Had a crystal ball and everything. Aziraphale’s father said she was unhinged, but Aziraphale rather enjoyed it. It was unusual, in a good way.

“Yes,” Anna answered, deep in concentration. 

“You can hardly see in here; it’s so dark!” 

“Oh, hush.” She leaned in. 

Aziraphale quit arguing. He’d forgotten what Tracy had ever said to him anyway. That had been years ago. 

“You have earth hands.” 

“Great.” 

She dropped his hand. “If you are going to be so  _ rude _ —”

“No, keep going,” he laughed.

She examined it again after glaring daggers at him. “Your lifeline is really long.” 

Aziraphale looked down, but he didn’t know which one was his lifeline. “Does that mean I’m not going to die any time soon?” 

“Well. Maybe.” She traced the line with her finger. “It just means you’ll have an enriching life.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Your  _ heart _ line, on the other hand—” 

Aziraphale snorted, which made Anna shoot him another glare. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered. 

“Your heart line suggests restlessness.”

“Funny.” 

“What’s funny about it?” 

“That you think the lines on my hand are telling me I have any sort of love life.” 

Anna dropped his hand, fortune-telling book forgotten. “I’m sure there are hundreds of women throwing themselves at you.” 

Aziraphale folded his hands on his lap. He wished he had the bottle, but it was next to Anna. “Yes, well. I’m not interested.” 

Anna hummed. (Something Crowley did when he was particularly comfortable, but Aziraphale was not thinking about Crowley while he was here _. _ ) 

“Not interested in dancing  _ or _ in women?” 

Aziraphale spluttered. “I am perfectly interested in women. I only meant the women…” He gestured outside, back towards the manor, the ball. 

“The golddiggers.” 

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale needed a subject change. He’d talk about anything other than this. 

Luckily, his eyes caught on to a telescope. “There’s a telescope,” he said dumbly. 

Anna moved her gaze over to where Aziraphale was looking. “Oh, yes. It was my brothers.” 

Aziraphale moved closer. He wiped his finger across it, feeling the dust that covered it. “How come he doesn’t use it anymore?” 

“He’s not around.” Anna stood up. “And I don’t know how to use it.” 

“You have a book about palm reading but you don’t know how to use a telescope?” 

“They’re two wildly different skills.” 

“Fair enough.” Aziraphale took a peek through it, but as they were indoors and it wasn’t pointing anywhere near the sky, he couldn’t see a thing. 

“I wish we could go there.”

“Where?” Aziraphale turned back to her. 

She gestured upwards. “The sky.” 

“There are balloons. And I read an article about these American men—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Anna laid down, staring up at the ceiling. “But farther than that.”

“Into the atmosphere?”

“Into the  _ universe _ .” 

Aziraphale lifted his head to stare at the same place she was. He couldn’t imagine leaving London, not really. Sometimes he thought about traveling, but he knew they were unattainable dreams. He always had trouble with the unrealistic. Leaving the planet seemed impossible. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit strange?” he asked. 

Anna grinned. “Father says that’s why no one wants to marry me.” She seemed more proud of this fact than anything else. 

Aziraphale’s tongue, loosened by the booze, acted of its own accord. “Would you like to dance?” 

“Thought you weren’t fond of dancing.”

“Well. I’m almost drunk.” 

Anna laughed as she jumped to her feet. Her laugh was so pleasant; Aziraphale wished he could hear it again. 

Anna didn’t protest that they couldn’t hear the music. Aziraphale realized that her hair, through the course of the night, had been released from her neat bun, and was now half up half down. It was a disaster, but she pulled it off. 

“I like you, Mr. Fell,” Anna said after a long while. 

They weren’t dancing formally, moving any which way they wanted. And it was nice, it was  _ fun _ . 

“I like you too, Miss Device.” 

But it was as if their last names didn’t even matter. They were ordinary here in this cottage, dancing to nothing and to everything. 


	8. Chapter 8

It would be overdramatic to burn this letter. Crowley knew this, knew it would be stupid and that he was reacting poorly to a perfectly normal situation, but he couldn’t stop staring at his stove. 

Aziraphale had written him a letter, a lengthy letter, about a  _ woman. _ Crowley knew this was inevitable, but he still felt like he was  _ falling, _ like his heart had been violently ripped from his chest.

Aziraphale was an aristocrat. Sooner, rather than later, he’d have to get married and start a family. The Fell estate was going to fall to him, and he’d need a good wife and an heir. Crowley could never be a part of that. 

_ But he kissed you. _

Crowley banished the thought from his head. He’d been so  _ stupid _ . Aziraphale had kissed his cheek; it had been nothing. A kiss out of pity. And all the letters, all the times they’d been in each other’s company, it had been because Aziraphale was kind. He was kind, and he was smart, and he was beautiful, and now he’d met a woman. 

Crowley scanned the pages, looking for a name. Aziraphale, as descriptive as he was, sometimes left out the most important details. 

What if it was someone Crowley had known _? _

If they got married (Crowley tried not to think about that—the vows they’d say in front of a priest, in front of an entire congregation, and then they’d go off and they’d start a family together,  _ together _ ), would he be invited to the wedding? Would Aziraphale even tell him? 

Aziraphale seemed happy, at least, talking about the way they had danced, the way her voice sounded. 

Crowley hated her. It was childish, cruel even, but Crowley wanted Aziraphale to dance with  _ him, _ he wanted Aziraphale to write extensively of the way  _ his _ voice sounded. 

Christ, he needed a drink.

… 

Aziraphale was going on about the most delicious scones he’d had yesterday, and Crowley was listening, he  _ was, _ he was just also thinking. Thinking about the Woman. 

Maybe Aziraphale had gotten the scones with her. Was that a romantic thing? Scones? 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said out of the blue and Crowley refocused on his face. “Are you awake?” 

“What?” Crowley sat up. “Of course I’m awake.” 

“Oh. Just, sometimes, you tend to nod off and you hadn’t moved in quite some time.” 

“I’ve never  _ nodded _ off.” 

Aziraphale gave him a warm smile. “You have these charming little snores, you know.” 

Crowley collapsed back into his chair. He refused to believe that he snored. 

“Something on your mind?” Aziraphale asked. He was swirling his wine around, and Crowley watched his hand for a long while. 

“No.” 

“You’re quiet, my dear.” 

He called everyone ‘my dear.’ It shouldn’t make Crowley’s heart flutter the way it did. In fact, Crowley’s heart shouldn’t be doing any  _ fluttering _ at all. It was not very masculine. 

“S’fine.” 

Aziraphale’s lips formed a thin line. He was upset. Upset with  _ Crowley. _ Because Crowley was being overdramatic. 

He sat up again. “You never mentioned her name.” 

“Who?” 

“The woman.” Crowley realized he probably should elaborate. “You met.” Maybe Aziraphale met a lot of women. Maybe this one was the one he just happened to write Crowley about. “At the ball.” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale seemed more surprised than anything, probably wondering how the hell he never said her name in the six pages he sent.

“Too caught up in her charms to get a name?” 

“Charms—? Well, not that she  _ wasn’t  _ charming, I suppose she was, but I wasn’t really… You see, we are similar in many ways, I’d say we’re like-minded individuals; we had the most thrilling discussion about pears—”

“Still don’t know her name.” 

“Right. Yes. Sorry.” He paused. “Anna.” 

Unfortunately, that did not narrow down the scope of women in any way. Anna was an immensely popular name. “Anna Carmichael? Williams? Ansley? Harrington?” 

“How many parties have you crashed?” 

Crowley, for a moment, forgot about the mysterious Anna. “What do you mean?” 

“You seem to know quite a few Annas in the upper class.” 

“I—” Crowley stumbled over some syllables, completely inarticulate. “Yeah. Lots of. Lots of parties.” 

“Why are you so interested in her name, anyway?” 

Crowley was being too forward. He didn’t have an answer for Aziraphale. Not one he’d appreciate, anyway. 

“Just curious, angel. If she’s gonna be around, I may as well know who she is.” 

“You’d like her.” 

Crowley tried not to scoff. “Really?” 

“Yes! She reminds me of you.” 

Crowley elected to ignore that. Couldn’t think too much into it. He took a sip of his drink, trying to seem casual, trying to pay attention as Aziraphale went on about an entirely new topic. 

If he asked Aziraphale to dance right now, would he? And if they did dance, something slow, and Crowley would hum something softly, would Aziraphale would lean his head on Crowley’s chest, feeling the vibrations of his vocal cords? Would he look up after a long while, when their feet were finally sore, and smile? Would he kiss Crowley—on the lips this time—and run his hands through Crowley’s hair? 

Crowley knew all the answers were  _ no. _ Knew that he was being foolish. 

But that did not stop him from thinking about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im really bad at suspenseful endings and crap but its fine. props to you if you've made it this far.


	9. Chapter 9

Aziraphale sat in the drawing room, hands on his lap and sitting upright. Lord Device sat across from him. He held a stern expression that greatly intimidated him. 

“To be quite frank, I’m surprised you’re here.” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale didn’t know how to reply. Had his father been here, he would have squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder.  _ Don’t embarrass me, son. _

In his own defense, Aziraphale was not expecting to meet Lord Device today. He had agreed to a social visit with  _ Anna _ , but when he entered the drawing room, her father had been there instead. 

“Anna has a bad habit of scaring away any potential suitors.” 

Aziraphale felt his stomach drop. Suitors? Is that what Anna had told him he was? He supposed there would be no other reason for he, an unmarried man, to be speaking with her, an unmarried woman. 

In truth, he’d never considered it, and he felt immensely guilty. Especially if that’s what Anna thought. 

He liked Anna well enough. They’d exchanged a couple letters, she had joined him for tea a handful of times, and she had wonderful things to say. 

But he’d never once gotten the impression that she… 

That he… 

_ Oh, god. _

“Well,” Aziraphale tried to form a coherent sentence. “I find her...enamoring.” Was that inappropriate. He bit down on his tongue.

“Others have said  _ strange. _ ” 

Aziraphale forced a smile in response. 

Lord Device took a deep breath. He looked Aziraphale up and down before saying, “I’ll have you know that you have my blessing.” 

“Blessing?” Aziraphale said stupidly. He flinched to himself, knowing how utterly dumb he sounded. 

“For her hand. The Fell name is well known. It would be a good match, for both our families.”

This conversation was moving a bit too fast for Aziraphale. First, he was a suitor, and now he was suddenly supposed to have  _ marriage _ on the mind? 

Lord Device didn’t even know Aziraphale. They’d barely spoken, and yet here he was, giving Aziraphale permission to marry his daughter.  _ As soon as possible, _ his expression read.

There were worse women to marry, of course. But Aziraphale had never imagined a union with Anna. 

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied. Agreeing with Lord Device right now was probably his best option to get him out of this room. It was growing a bit too hot. 

Although, Aziraphale was unsure if his own father knew about his...his courtship with Miss Device. He didn’t see his father often. He couldn’t really see his father disagreeing with any of Lord Device’s sentiments, though. 

Really, his only problem was… himself. And Anna. What did Anna think of this? 

Lord Device stood up and Aziraphale was quick to follow. They shook hands. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Aziraphale.” 

“And you, Lord Device.” Aziraphale hoped he didn’t notice how sweaty his hands were. 

He wished he could relax after the older man had left, but he kept ruminating on his words. 

“Oh, god,” Anna’s voice came from the doorway, and there she was. 

The familiarity of her was welcome, but Aziraphale remembered that she thought he was courting her.

He had two options. Fess up and say he purely saw their relationship as platonic, or go through with his. 

She stepped in beside him. “What did he say to you?” 

“Wh— He didn’t. I mean, he did. Say things. Um.” Aziraphale let out a breath. “Could we please go outside? I need some fresh air.” 

“To the sulking bench?” 

“That would be lovely.” 

As they walked through the garden, Aziraphale realized that this was terribly romantic. Being together in the garden. In fact, this would be a perfect place to propose. 

“Listen, I know my father is intimidating,” Anna said when they reached the bench. 

Aziraphale waited for the second half of that sentence. Nothing followed. “But?” he prompted. 

“No. That’s it.” 

“Oh.” 

“What did he say?” 

“He…” Aziraphale debated telling her. But really, she either already knew about this, or if not, she deserved to know. “He gave me his blessing.” 

She didn’t react. She was waiting for Aziraphale to say something more. 

“He said it would be...a profitable marriage.” 

Anna nodded. Aziraphale assumed that she  _ did _ know, and wondered why he seemed to be the only one that was caught off guard by this. “It would be.” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but then closed it. He could barely wrap his head around the word  _ marriage, _ let alone say a lengthy sentence.

Anna noticed his look, though. “What is it?” 

He took a deep breath. “Forgive...forgive me if I’m being rude, but I wasn’t aware that you had marriage plans. With anybody. Or with me.” 

He noticed that she wasn’t sprawled out like she normally was when they were alone. She was sitting up straight and proper. 

“Yes, well, it’s inevitable, isn’t it? Marriage. And you’re the first man I’ve met where I’ve enjoyed their company.” 

Aziraphale focused on the bush in front of him. It had lost its leaves; fall had set in. Aziraphale always found it fascinating, but also depressing. 

“And...you would like me...to propose?” 

“I think it would work out for us both, yeah.” 

“I don’t have a ring.”

She laughed, and a part of Aziraphale relaxed. He turned to her with a small smile. 

“I don’t expect a proposal right this instant, Aziraphale.” 

“Right. Of course. Good. Because I would need to...talk with my father, as well.” 

Anna put her hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Her deep brown eyes held Aziraphale’s gaze. 

Was this the part where they were supposed to kiss? 

But she didn’t lean forward. Neither did Aziraphale. 

Out of nowhere, Aziraphale found himself thinking of Crowley. Crowley had never been this close to him. They always sat in separate chairs. 

Crowley wasn’t a touchy-feely sort of guy, not even a hand on the shoulder. And Aziraphale… Aziraphale wasn’t too acquainted with physical contact, either.

Sometimes, he imagined Crowley taking his hand. Crowley running his fingers along Aziraphale’s knuckles. Crowley gently taking ahold of Aziraphale’s wrists, hands moving slowly up his arms until they reached the back of his neck, and he’d pull Aziraphale in closer, close until they were kissing. 

He imagined things he shouldn’t, he imagined things that could never be. 

“I’m sorry if my father freaked you out,” Anna said quietly, bringing Aziraphale back to the bench. Back to her. 

“He did not.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“I’m just...a bit awkward.” 

“I know.” She removed her hand, standing up. “We should go get drunk.” 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” 


	10. Chapter 10

“Sometimes,” Beez’s voice came from the center of the room, but Crowley couldn’t force himself to open his eyes. “I’m in awe with your indolence.” 

“What time is it?” he mumbled. 

“Noon.” 

He rolled over, groaning. At least he wasn’t hungover. He’d gone out last night but hadn’t gone crazy. Just enough to forget that Aziraphale hadn’t been home. 

_ He was probably with Anna. _

“Rough night?” 

“Long.” He finally forced himself to open his eyes and sit up. It was never bright in his flat, but he put his sunglasses on anyway. 

Beez was standing in the middle of the room. She was small, but she always looked intimidating. “There’s a meeting tonight.”

“Got it.” 

“Anything you’d like to go over beforehand?” 

_ This _ was a trick question. It sent terror down Crowley’s spine. She knew something. 

Crowley, without moving his head, glanced at the floorboard. It hadn’t budged, and Beez didn’t know that it was used as a hiding space. Probably. 

Or maybe Aziraphale had written him a new letter, and when she showed up, she’d noticed it. 

Either way, Crowley had to say something. He couldn’t risk being thrown out in the cold. 

“Actually, yeah.” Crowley leaned back, exuding insouciance. Or, at least, that’s what he hoped he looked like. “Been working on a new project.” 

“What does it involve?” 

“Heard of the Fells?” 

“Course I have.” 

“I’ve struck up an acquaintance with the son.” 

Beez seemed wholly unimpressed, likely because she already knew. “How does this help us? You can’t  _ marry _ into the fortune.” 

“No,” Crowley agreed. “But it won’t be difficult to steal from him.” 

“Don’t you think you’ll be the first one he blames if things start to go missing?” 

“No. His house is a clutter, and.” He hesitated. He shouldn’t say it, he shouldn’t say it, but it would sell this thing. It would get Beez on board. “And he likes me.” 

Beez raised an eyebrow. “Likes you?” 

Crowley tried to breathe normally, hoped it didn’t look like he was having difficulty swallowing. “Yup.” 

The gears began turning in Beez’s head. She had a hand in her pocket and slowly pulled out a letter, handing it to Crowley as if there was nothing intrusive about her having it. 

“Shouldn’t be hard to manipulate him, then.” 

A piece of Crowley seemed to die. “No. Not at all.” 

Beez nodded and then headed towards the door. “See you tonight.” 

Crowley held the letter in his hand, collapsing back onto his bed. He was afraid to open it. He didn’t deserve Aziraphale’s words, not after agreeing to scam him, to steal from him and exploit him. 

He hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, but he still felt sick to his stomach. 

He had to find a way out of this, without getting thrown on the streets, and without Aziraphale hating his guts. 

… 

“Is this a bad time?” Crowley was standing in the doorway, looking slightly out of place.

Aziraphale would never send him away, even if he was suffering from a small hangover. Plus, Crowley was holding a box, and Aziraphale was quite intent on finding out what was inside.

“No. Not at all.” 

“You look like you’re...in pain.” 

“I’m fine, thank you.” 

Crowley came cautiously into the room. Handed Aziraphale the box. “You weren’t home last night.” 

Aziraphale opened it and discovered an assortment of pastries. They were still slightly warm; Crowley must have just gotten them. “You were here last night?” he asked, trying to focus on Crowley rather than the treats he was holding. 

Crowley nodded. He hadn’t sat down in his chair. Aziraphale had the urge to stand up, to be the same height as him, but that also seemed like a lot of work. And he had already begun eating one of the pastries, which was much more enjoyable sitting down. 

Aziraphale had to swallow his bite. “I was…” Why did he feel bad? Why did this fill him to the brim with guilt? “...with Anna.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t decipher Crowley’s reaction. There was a small flex of his jaw, barely noticeable. “All night?” 

“I don’t know about... _ all _ night.” 

“You gonna marry her?” 

Aziraphale had planned to speak with his father about it tomorrow. Tomorrow, when he felt better, and when he’d figured out what to say. His father surely wouldn’t disagree with marrying into the Device family, but Aziraphale could never be sure. 

“I suppose,” he answered Crowley.

“You  _ suppose _ ,” Crowley repeated, a hint of anger and mockery leaking through his words. 

Aziraphale was lost. Why was Crowley acting like this? Everything had been fine the last time they’d met, and nothing had transpired through their writing. 

_ Or is he angry for the same reason you feel guilty? _

Aziraphale shouldn’t think that. Couldn’t. It would start other, more dangerous trains of thought. 

He smoothed out invisible wrinkles on his trousers, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “Marrying her will be good for the family. My father will approve.” 

“And that’s all that matters, right? That your father  _ approves. _ ”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw shut. 

“And all your father cares about is what everyone else in this blasted city thinks about you. You never think about what  _ you _ want.”

Aziraphale put the remainder of the pastry back in the box. “I  _ do _ want this.” 

He wasn’t lying. He liked Anna. He could build a life with her. It didn’t matter that Crowley made his heart flutter sometimes, that he thought of Crowley constantly (when he saw flowers when he passed someone on the street with red hair when he read a passage that hit a little too close to home), that Crowley was the one Aziraphale, late at night, when he was certain there was not another soul awake to hear his thoughts and the slight hope that perhaps he wouldn’t remember in the morning, imagined himself dancing with. 

It didn’t matter. 

“And Anna and her family want it, too,” Aziraphale said with finality. 

“Her family, yeah. Yeah, of course, because what we really need is two rich people eloping to make each other even  _ richer _ .” 

Aziraphale couldn’t ask Crowley why he was snapping at him. He couldn’t ask Crowley to  _ leave, _ either. The thought of that made him feel worse. 

“I’m sorry, my dear.” 

He didn’t know why he said it, or what he was apologizing for. It just felt like the right thing to say. 

Crowley began walking towards one of Aziraphale’s bookshelves. Pulled out a collection of sonnets and began absentmindedly leafing through it. 

“How do you read this stuff?” Crowley finally said. 

“It’s in English.” 

“But it’s…” 

“If you are about to insult me--”

“Not  _ you. _ The poetry. It’s too mushy.”

Aziraphale crinkled his nose at the description. “There is nothing wrong with emotional poetry.”

“Just doesn’t seem like your style.” He said it so nonchalantly, Aziraphale almost believed it wasn’t an insult. 

Aziraphale swallowed his response. He was perfectly in tune with his emotions. Crowley didn’t know what he was talking about. 

Crowley closed the book but remained between the bookshelves. He ran his fingers over the spines as he walked further away. Aziraphale, against his better judgment, stood up and followed him, leaving the box of pastries on his chair. 

“Always hated poetry,” Crowley grumbled. He sounded petulant, lamenting against poetry. 

“Why?” 

“Just did. It was boring. And pretentious.”

“And  _ mushy? _ ”

“Yeah.” 

They turned down another aisle. Aziraphale wished he was more organized, but alas, that was not one of his strong suits. He, broadly speaking, knew where everything was, but everyone else who entered this space couldn’t locate a thing.

“You read all of these?” Crowley asked. His fingers were long, his nails dirty. 

“Most of them.” 

Crowley stopped, suddenly, his finger resting on  _ Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley _ . Aziraphale almost bumped into him. 

“That was my mother’s,” Aziraphale said after a long silence. It was old, well-used. The spine was cracked. 

Crowley glanced at him as if making sure it was still okay to touch. Aziraphale gave him a subtle nod. 

He took the book and held it gently. 

That’s what Crowley was, at his core. He was gentle. 

“She liked to write in her books,” Aziraphale continued. “I have another copy. In a different aisle that doesn’t have any writing in it, because I find it distracting--”

Aziraphale was cut off by Crowley opening his mouth and speaking. Not replying to Aziraphale but, mortifyingly, reading a poem aloud.

“The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

Why not I with thine?—

See the mountains kiss high heaven

And the waves clasp one another;

No sister-flower would be forgiven

If it disdained its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth

And the moonbeams kiss the sea:

What is all this sweet work worth

If thou kiss not me?”

Crowley’s voice was soft, deep,  _ beautiful. _

Aziraphale couldn’t think like that. 

They were standing entirely too close; the book was the only thing between them. Crowley was looking at him, lips slightly parted. Aziraphale wished that he could  _ see _ Crowley’s eyes but he was only met with his reflection in the lenses. 

“Do you ever…” Crowley began. Aziraphale could feel his palms sweating, could hear the grandfather clock in the hallway ticking away and it was going too fast, much too fast. “Do you ever think about running away? Letting go of everything here?” 

Aziraphale forced himself to take a step back. It was a small step, much too small, but it was a step. “Of course not.”

“Never? Not once have you  _ ever _ thought about leaving this life behind and starting anew, without any responsibilities?” 

“No!” 

“I could show you so many wonderful things, Aziraphale. Anywhere you want to go.” 

And this was getting into dangerous territory. Aziraphale had to take another step away from him, away from the blasted poetry book.

Maybe Crowley had been onto something when he said it was  _ mushy. _

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

Crowley shut the book. Placed it carefully back on the shelf. Nodded. Aziraphale was worried he would become more upset and opened his mouth to apologize again, to start explaining  _ something _ , but Crowley said, “Understood.” 

Aziraphale wanted--

What  _ did _ he want? 

He clenched his fists at his sides, keeping himself grounded, digging his nails into his palm. 

He wanted to stop thinking like this. It was causing too many problems.

“Let’s grab lunch,” Crowley said, breaking the insufferable silence that had filled the aisle.

Aziraphale instantly relaxed. He could always count on Crowley to save him. “Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the life of me i cannot get chapters to be the same length so they are really all over the place oof. i wish i was better at outlining so i knew how long this thing was going to be but ive got no clue. im just here for the ride.


	11. Chapter 11

Crowley was, in every sense of the word, an optimist. He would never admit it, of course. He would be ridiculed by Beez and the rest of them and, well, he didn’t really talk to anyone else except for Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale was, undeniably, courting a wealthy woman that he would more than likely marry. But he was, almost certainly, attracted to Crowley. 

Sometimes he stared too long or glanced at areas no gentleman should be glancing at. 

(There was the kiss, too, but sometimes Crowley wondered if that had been real, or if it was some part of his dreams bleeding into his reality.)

He had never told Crowley to leave, either. Never encouraged him to step away if they got too close, if they accidentally bumped arms. 

And he’d practically asked Crowley to wait for him. To slow down. Crowley could do that. He was optimistic  _ and _ patient. 

Aziraphale more often than not asked Crowley to  _ stay a bit longer, my dear _ . And,  _ do come again soon _ . 

There was always a promise of a drink. Crowley brought flowers, sometimes, pastries others (and Aziraphale never complained, never told him to quit). 

If Tracy thought anything strange about it, she never said a word. She usually made herself scarce when Crowley was around and he always wondered if Aziraphale had told her to. If Aziraphale was preparing for something…ungentlemanlike to occur. 

Crowley had stopped waiting for an invitation. He was always welcome—Aziraphale didn’t usually have other guests, and if he did, Crowley noticed and would come back the next day—and so he would saunter in whenever he was in the area. (And when he wasn’t.)

On this particular day, Crowley had stumbled upon a box of chocolates that he knew Aziraphale would enjoy. What better excuse to see him than a box of chocolates? 

“Mr. Crowley,” Tracy said with a smile when she opened the door. 

“Good afternoon, Madame.” 

“Chocolates today?” She gestured him inside. 

Crowley took his coat off, rested it and his hat on the rack. Tracy had tried to take it the first time, but he insisted he was perfectly capable of doing it on his own. 

“They caught my eye.” 

“You’ve come just in time,” she said, leading him to the library. Aziraphale was always in the library. 

“In time for what?” 

“Mr. Fell and Miss Device were just about to…”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out by a ringing in Crowley’s ears. He felt his grip on the chocolates loosening, but he didn’t process it. All he was processing was  _ Miss Device _ over and over again. 

Aziraphale was courting Anna  _ Device _ . 

Crowley’s throat suddenly seemed to restrict. His legs were on the verge of giving out, but when the chocolates hit the floor, he froze. He froze and he stared down at the black and white tiles. They were so colorless. 

That was all he could think about as Tracy asked him if he was alright,  _ do you need to sit down, dear? You’re looking a little pale— _

“What’s going on out here?” Aziraphale’s voice snapped Crowley out of his trance. He looked up, terrified. 

His instinct was to run. Anna was no doubt right behind Aziraphale and if she saw him—

Well. 

It was too late for that. 

Both of them were in the hall. Aziraphale with his puzzled brow, which very quickly vanished with a smile when he saw it was Crowley. 

Crowley had ruined the chocolates. They were all over the floor, and even though this was probably the cleanest floor in all of London, it wouldn’t be proper for anyone to eat them, much less Aziraphale.

Crowley's mind quickly shifted from the chocolates to  _ Anna  _ when he saw her. 

It had been years since he’d seen her. She’d been so much younger. Much shorter hair, too. But now it was long, messy as it always was. She still wore her spectacles. 

Father always told her she looked ridiculous, but she had an affinity towards them. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He noticed the chocolates spread across the floor. “Oh, dear.” 

Crowley was still staring at Anna. He was trying to think of something to say, something about the chocolates.  _ I’m sorry.  _

Anna stood behind Aziraphale. She had never looked so shocked in her life. Crowley wondered, not for the first time, what father had said to her. 

Tracy leaned down and began picking up the chocolates, which somewhat registered in Crowley’s mind. “No, no, I’ll–I’ll get them.” 

“Are you—” she began. 

“Fine. Yes. All good. Had a clumsy moment there.” His hands were shaking and he did his best to not collapse onto the ground. 

“Alright then. I shall leave you to make an introduction, Aziraphale.” 

And then she left, with Crowley still on the ground, trying to pick up all the chocolates.

“Right. Yes! Crowley, this is Miss Anna Device.” He didn’t look at her as he said it, which was a good thing, because she was still gaping at him, looking like a fish. Crowley would have teased her about it if he’d been six years younger. 

Crowley looked her in the eyes and gave her the biggest grin he could manage. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Device. Aziraphale has told me so much about you.” 

He hoped she would get the hint. He begged every god and devil he’d ever known that she wouldn’t say a word. 

She closed her mouth. Nodded slowly. “He’s said a lot about you, too.” She swallowed. “ _ Crowley _ .” 

The name was foreign on her tongue. Crowley wished, for the millionth time in the past two minutes, that he could disappear off the face of the earth. 

Crowley picked up the last piece of chocolate and got to his feet as gracefully as he could manage. 

“Would you care to join us, Crowley?” Aziraphale offered. “We were just going to go for a stroll.” 

“I…” Crowley didn’t know what to say. He placed the ruined chocolates on the surface nearest to him, afraid he’d drop it again. “I couldn’t possibly intrude.”

“You’re never an  _ intrusion _ , my dear.” 

Crowley was using the table to steady himself now. Anna’s gaze had turned cold. 

“I just…” He cleared his throat. “I only came by to… You-you and Miss Device really should…” He gestured vaguely. 

“Are you quite alright, dear? You’re sweating.” 

“It’s a bit hot.”

“Are you ill?” 

“‘Course not. Um, you two should be on your way, then. And I’ll be on mine. Yup.” 

Crowley nodded to himself, but he couldn’t move an inch towards the door before Anna said, “Before we leave, Aziraphale, I believe I left my bag upstairs. Would you mind getting it?” 

Aziraphale turned to her. “Upstairs?”

“Yes. On the sofa.” 

Crowley’s focus was not that Anna had been upstairs, where he’d never been invited. It didn’t bother him that Aziraphale really only wanted him in the library, where no one else would see him. That was the way things were, and he was fine with it. 

“Alright.” Aziraphale gave Crowley one last smile before heading towards the staircase. Both Anna and Crowley watched him leave. 

Anna spoke first when he was only a few paces away from them. In a harsh whisper, she asked, “You’re  _ alive _ ?” 

Crowley’s gaze stayed on Aziraphale for a second. He couldn’t let him hear. “Alive?” He looked at Anna. “Of course I’m  _ alive. _ ” He paused, and then a humorless laugh escaped him. “Oh, is that what father said? That I  _ died _ ?” 

Anna’s expression became angry. “Does father know you’re alive?” 

“Yes. I suppose disowning me would be a lot of work and explanations he didn’t want to do, but saying I died and then pretending I never existed? A lot better for the family name.” 

“ _ Disowned _ you? Why?” 

“You really have to ask?” 

Anna crossed to him. He took a step back. She was furious; he could practically see flames behind her eyes. “And you never thought to say anything? Where have you been? And how do you…how do you know Aziraphale? And what the  _ hell _ kind of name is Crowley?” 

Crowley blinked away tears, ever thankful for his dark lenses that prevented the world from seeing his untimely sparks of emotion. He was trying his hardest not to think of his last conversation with his father. 

_ If I ever see you again, hear a word about you again, I’ll kill you, Anthony. Get the fuck out!  _

“It’s a ridiculous name,” she continued. 

“Not as ridiculous as you being here with a man who clearly has no feelings for you.” The words shot out of Crowley like a gun, fast and violent, and their impact was just as painful. 

He watched Anna’s face fall, watched tears glisten in her eyes. He fucked up, he knew immediately that he’d fucked up, and he felt the intense desire to collapse somewhere and take a nap for a few decades. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. He took off his glasses. “I’m...that was cruel. I’m sorry.” 

She was quiet, but she didn’t look away from him. 

“He does like you. He does. A lot. He wrote a seven page letter about you.” 

That made her smile. It was faint, but it was there. 

“Yeah. Yeah. He really likes to talk, our Aziraphale.” 

She reached out and took his hand. “Anthony.”

He hated the name. No one had called him that in years, and he loathed it more than he’d ever loathed anything else. 

She sensed that, somehow. “Crowley,” she corrected herself. “I’ve missed you.” 

And Crowley would have responded,  _ I missed you, too, every day, and I love you, and I’m so sorry I never tried to say a word, but I was scared that you’d hate me, I was scared of so many things, _ but he heard Aziraphale coming back down the stairs, and he had to shove his glasses back on before he reached them. 

“I couldn’t find it,” he announced when he reached them. 

“Silly me,” Anna commented with a coy smile, holding it up. “It was in my hands the whole time.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale replied. “You should have yelled for me.” 

“It’s hardly proper for a woman to be yelling.” 

Crowley snorted. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “Actually, Mr. Fell, and I hate to do this to you, but I’m not feeling well.” 

“You’re not?” Aziraphale seemed baffled by the concept. 

“No. It just came upon me and I feel absolutely dreadful.”

“What’s wrong?” 

Anna blinked. Glanced at Crowley, who shrugged. “Lady issues.” 

Aziraphale was on the verge of panicking. “Would you… Do you need to rest? We have guest rooms.” 

“No, no. I can make it home.” Anna headed towards the door, making harsh eye contact with Crowley.  _ Follow. Me _ . 

“I can escort her,” he said quickly, making haste after her. 

“Escort her?” Aziraphale repeated. He trailed behind Crowley. 

“Yes. I can be gentlemanly.” 

“Well, not that I… Crowley, I think that  _ I _ can escort—”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Fell,” Anna said, already opening the front door. “Crowley here will do just fine.”

“Are you certain?”

“Extremely.” Anna waited for Crowley to get his coat on before stepping outside. “I will see you soon.” 

“Of course, my dear. Crowley.” 

Aziraphale maintained a baffled expression even as the door shut behind Crowley and Anna. 

… 

“You have some explaining to do.” 

Crowley’s hands were shoved in his pockets. “Yeah.” But he didn’t know where to begin or what she wanted to know, so he didn’t continue. 

“Where did you go?”  _ After you were kicked out, cast down?  _

Crowley had tried to go to Richard’s. He’d been a mess, sobbing and barely intelligible, but when Richard was able to understand why, he sent him away. 

_ “I can’t be seen with you. Ever again.” _

_ “Richard—” Anthony grasped at his sleeve. _

_ He pried himself away, panic and disgust in his eyes. “Don’t touch me.” _

_ “You said—” _

_ “I said nothing. I meant nothing. Get off my property or I’ll call the police.”  _

Crowley wished, sometimes, that he could forget everything from Before. 

“I didn’t have anywhere to go,” he answered Anna. “Was just on the streets for a couple of weeks.”

“And then?”

Crowley was scared (maybe a little embarrassed, too) to admit to her that he was in a band of criminals. Aziraphale didn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t want to be around Crowley. 

Crowley was untrustworthy, manipulative, a thief. He’d keep Aziraphale from knowing about that for as long as he could. He frequently dodged questions about his income and his other friends. 

(Friends was a generous word. Crowley would prefer to think of them as coworkers, except for the fact that none of them had a real job.) 

“Some people took me in.”

“What people?” 

“People like me.”  _ People who have been cast down. People who have nowhere else to go. People that nobody else in the world gives a shit about. The lowlifes, the undesirables, the unforgivables.  _

“And you’ve been living with them ever since?”

“Yeah. Sort of. I got my own place now. But they’re around enough.” Always unannounced. Always checking up. 

“You like them?” 

“They accepted me.”

Not an answer to her question, but she didn’t press him. 

“And Aziraphale doesn’t know any of this.” 

Crowley hesitated. He felt guilty about it, obviously, but he couldn’t admit that. “No.”

“Why not?” 

“Fucking hell, Anna. He’ll never want to speak to me again.” 

“I doubt that. I’d say he’s quite enamored.” 

_ Enamored _ . That word certainly had connotations and Crowley tripped over his own feet. Anna turned to him, half to make sure he was alright and half to chuckle at his blunder. 

“Are you two…” She tried to find the right word. “…fraternizing?” 

“Er…” Crowley tried to decipher what she meant by that. “No?” 

“No?” she repeated as if she didn’t believe him. 

“No,” he said with more certainty.  _ You go too fast for me, Crowley.  _ “He’s…courting you.” 

“Like that would stop anybody.”

“He respects you, Anna. He wouldn’t do that to you.” 

They walked on in silence, Crowley not knowing what else to say. They were heading in the direction towards their house— _ Anna’s  _ house, he had to remind himself he couldn’t go back—and Crowley knew he would need to turn around soon. 

He didn’t want to. 

Finally, Anna said, “Nice to know, I guess.” 

Crowley stopped. They were two streets away from Caelestis Avenue, where he used to live. Where he was no longer allowed. 

“I should go. Wouldn’t be good if someone saw me.” 

Anna was not pleased, but she didn’t argue. “Going back to Aziraphale’s?” 

“No,” Crowley replied. “Why would I… I already went and made a fool of myself—”

“You should tell him.”

Crowley looked down at his shoes. “Probably.” 

“I’m a great liar,” Anna continued. “But I think Aziraphale deserves better.” 

She was right. 

But that was what scared Crowley. Aziraphale deserved better than  _ him _ . 

“I’ll see you soon,” Crowley said. He wasn’t sure if he should hold out his hand for a handshake (Pat her back? Her shoulder? Why did affection have to be so damned hard?), but she made the decision for him by wrapping her arms around him. 

Crowley froze before he slowly, slowly returned the hug. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. But it didn’t feel bad. 

“Okay,” she replied. She wasn’t letting go, but Crowley didn’t want her to. “You’re really fucking skinny, you know that?” 

Crowley laughed. “Yeah.” 

“Just skin and bone.” 

“I’m aware.” He grinned to himself before tacking on the nickname he’d given her: “Anathema.” 

She shoved him away from her, but her grin betrayed her. “You quit that, you utter  _ demon. _ ” 

“A bit extreme.” 

She huffed. “I’m going now.” 

“Alright.” She turned around, and he called after her, “Next time I get to interrogate you, right?” 

She waved her hand in reply, which wasn’t a no. 


	12. Chapter 12

Crowley debated writing a letter. It seemed easier than having to look Aziraphale in the eyes. 

But he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale would be cross with him if he didn’t have the guts to say it to his face. Would he be cross anyway? Crowley had lied, sort of. Avoided the truth at the very least, and it wasn’t much different. 

(He was still lying to Aziraphale. Snagged some cash lying around, an old pocket watch that turned out to be a one of a kind. Never the books. Aziraphale cared about the books.)

He started the letter a dozen times and never found the right words to say. After wasting a lot of paper and deciding that he was better at winging things anyway, he donned his coat and headed towards the Fell manor. 

… 

Crowley usually came with a gift. Aziraphale was flattered, maybe a little embarrassed, but he wouldn’t say a word. It would be rude. And, well, Aziraphale  _ liked _ getting gifts. 

When Crowley showed up without one, he had to admit he was disappointed, but of course, he was nevertheless thrilled to have Crowley in his company. 

Crowley hadn’t responded to his last letter. He was going to send a second one but wondered to himself if not responding was Crowley’s subtle way of saying  _ lessen up a bit, angel _ . 

Or maybe he just hadn’t had time. 

Not that Aziraphale spent his free time thinking upon this subject. 

“Good afternoon, my dear fellow.” 

Crowley shrugged in response, draped himself over his chair. 

Aziraphale closed his book. “I haven’t seen you in a fortnight.” Since he’d run into Anna. 

Was that the problem? 

Aziraphale had spoken with Anna since. Anna said that Crowley had been fine, but that was it. Her lack of elaboration was strange, a bit worrisome, but she insisted that she had enjoyed meeting Crowley. 

“Sorry,” Crowley replied. “Got a bit caught up.”

“May I ask?” 

Crowley only smirked in response.  _ Best not to, angel _ . 

Aziraphale nodded. “How have you been?” 

“Good. Great.” Then he sat up. Never a good sign with him. “Actually, I needed to…talk with you.” 

Crowley never wanted to  _ talk _ . Not when he was looking this serious. 

“Of course.”

“If your book—”

“Not at all.” Aziraphale set it aside. 

“This can wait. If-if you—”

“For heaven’s sake, Crowley. Get on with it.” 

Crowley stood up and began pacing. Aziraphale worried that he’d been too harsh, that Crowley wouldn’t tell him anything now, but after a few moments of silence, he said, “I wasn’t always…a commoner.” 

And then he stopped pacing and looked to Aziraphale, awaiting a reaction. 

Aziraphale was terrible at these sorts of conversations. He couldn’t have Crowley panic and leave, and he absolutely could not say the wrong thing and ruin this. In the softest voice he could manage, Aziraphale said, “I know, my dear.” 

“What?” 

“You always seemed to know about the social scene, and you never talked about…your family, your past. And you’re quite educated, you’ve traveled. I assumed as much.” 

Crowley made a series of inarticulate sounds before spluttering out, “But you never brought it up.” 

“You clearly didn’t want to discuss it.”

“You didn’t send me away.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes, he never had, but he could hear the tears in Crowley’s voice. Aziraphale had to shove down the urge to stand up and go to him. He’d more than likely do something he’d regret. 

“No. I quite like having you around.”

Crowley sat back down. 

Aziraphale waited for him to continue, to say something more, but he sat in silence, head turned towards Aziraphale. 

“May I ask,” Aziraphale said. “Why you’re telling me this now?” 

Crowley ran a hand through his hair. Aziraphale’s hands twitched at his sides. 

“Because.” Crowley paused. “Because Anna is my sister.”

_ This _ was news to Aziraphale. He tried not to let his mouth fall open but was unsuccessful. 

Then he saw it. Of course, Crowley had bright red hair, and Anna’s hair was dark brown, almost black. But they had the same nose, the same dim freckles that dotted their face. Aziraphale remembered every instance where Anna reminded him of Crowley. 

Oh, he was daft. 

“Are you angry?” Crowley whispered. 

“What?” Aziraphale turned his attention back to his friend. “No. No, just surprised. Very… I didn’t see that coming.” 

Crowley gave him a small smile. “I don’t look like any of my siblings. Got cursed with the red hair.” 

“I wouldn’t use the word  _ cursed _ .” 

“It’s hideous. Stands out too much. I’m told I have a striking resemblance to my grandfather, which is never a good thing.”

Anthony Device. Of course. The great scandal the Devices couldn’t escape from. 

Their eldest son had been a party animal, for lack of a better term. Hung out with the wrong people, was always getting himself into trouble. (Rumors of him being a sodomite. Rumors of his charm, his way in bed. Rumors Aziraphale had heard in passing at parties, had never given a second thought. He’d never been close enough to the Devices to care, until now, as he was apparently in cahoots with two of them.) 

And then Anthony had disappeared. 

The Devices pretended he’d never existed. It had been relatively easy. Aziraphale had never known him, probably saw him and forgot about it. He was infamous for his red hair, his smooth talking, and his seduction. Aziraphale had done his best to stay away, and he’d easily erased it from his mind after his disappearance, only to be reminded of it now as he sat across from the long lost eldest son.

“Did you run away?” Aziraphale asked. He suddenly realized that Crowley most likely did not want questions asked. He’d never opened up about this before and now Aziraphale was prying. 

But he answered. “No. Got kicked out after a particularly, uh.” Crowley blushed. “Doesn’t matter, really. My father was sick of dealing with me.” 

“I—”

“Don’t apologize, angel. I deserved it.”

Aziraphale bit his lip nervously. Looked from Crowley to one of his bookshelves and then back to Crowley. “No one deserves that, Crowley.”

_ Anthony. His name was Anthony. Where did Crowley come from? Does he like the name Anthony?  _

Crowley wasn’t reacting to what Aziraphale had just said. Aziraphale wondered if he had overstepped. 

“Why the name Crowley?” Aziraphale asked after he felt like the silence had become insufferable. “You don’t have to-to answer, of course—”

“Made it up.” 

“Really?” 

Crowley shifted. He was uncomfortable, and Aziraphale was going to repeat that he didn’t have to oblige him when he said, “It-it’s a bit stupid, but. But my father took everything from me. My home, my title, my family. My…my  _ love _ . The last thing I wanted was to keep the name he’d given me. So I made up my own.” 

“That’s not stupid at all.” 

Crowley laughed with self deprecation. He was shaking, Aziraphale realized. 

“Sorry,” Crowley said, his voice filled to the brim with emotion. “I never…I’ve never talked about this.” 

“We can stop.” 

Crowley hesitated. “I’m sure that you…you’ve heard about some of the things I did, so you definitely have questions—” His voice broke just then and Aziraphale felt a pang in his heart. He could see tears on Crowley’s cheeks. 

“Questions,” Crowley tried again. “I can do my best to—”

Aziraphale felt the need to intervene. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“You have questions about everything; I  _ know  _ you have questions about this—”

Aziraphale stood up and offered his handkerchief to Crowley. Crowley looked up at him, at his extended arm. Aziraphale imagined him debating whether to take it or not. In the end, he did.

“You are always welcome here,” Aziraphale said. 

“If your father knew—”

“He doesn’t. And he won’t.” Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me this.”

Crowley made more of his unintelligible noises, not really responding, but Aziraphale always found it endearing. He stared into Crowley’s dark lenses, wishing that, for once, he would’ve taken them off. 

“Do you really wear those to seem mysterious?” 

Crowley snorted. “Did I say that?”

“Yes. You were a bit intoxicated, though.” Aziraphale turned and sat back down.

Crowley’s smile slowly faded. “I have an eye condition. I’m sensitive to light.” His fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt. “And it. It makes people uncomfortable. So the glasses kill two birds with one stone.” 

“Is it ever too bright in here?” 

Crowley’s features grew softer. Aziraphale could imagine his eyes sparkling. “No, angel.” 

“Well, if it’s ever...let me know what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

Then Crowley was silent. He wasn’t angry, though, and he’d stopped crying from what Aziraphale could tell. His silence was more contemplative. He never looked away from Aziraphale. 

“What color are they?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley seemed confused, so he added, “Your eyes, I mean.” 

“Oh. They’re just-just… It-it’s boring. Just a boring brown,” Crowley stammered. His neck was growing a bit red. 

“I’m certain they aren’t  _ boring _ , my dear.” 

Crowley was muttering under his breath; Aziraphale caught a snatch of the words, something about blue. 

“And you don’t have to worry about making me uncomfortable.” It needed to be said. Crowley needed to know. 

Aziraphale watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Crowley opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but evidently couldn’t think of anything to say. He looked just as shocked as he had as he stood in the hallway two weeks ago, standing across from Anna and Aziraphale. 

“You didn’t know I was courting your sister,” Aziraphale realized. 

He imagined Crowley rolling his eyes. “Obviously.” But then he grinned. “I spilled all those damn chocolates.”

And then they were both laughing, and it didn’t matter why, because it felt so  _ good _ seeing Crowley sit in his chair and laugh with absolutely no restraint. 

…

“Do you ever miss it, Crowley?” 

“Sometimes.”

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, it was nice, sometimes. Not having to worry about money. And I had my family. I quite liked my younger siblings.”

“But you only miss it sometimes?” 

“ _ Now _ I can do whatever I want. Nothing’s being held over my head. I have no fortune to protect or image to uphold.” 

“So it was worth it?” 

“Dunno. Maybe. Met you, didn’t I?” 

“You’re a flirt.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“Did you get the snake tattoo before or after you named yourself after a crow?” 

“Firstly, I didn’t name myself after a crow. I just liked the name. Secondly, the snake tattoo was definitely  _ after _ . No lord has a face tattoo.” 

“Why a snake?” 

“I like snakes.”

“And you don’t like crows?” 

“Crows are alright. I don’t know. Quit laughing at me.” 

“I’m not! Okay. Okay. That garden we went to. That was funded by the Devices.” 

“That’s not a question.”

“My  _ question _ is did you have any part in it?” 

“Some. As much as my father would allow.”

“Was the telescope yours?” 

“You saw my telescope?” 

“Yes. It’s all dusty.” 

“Doesn’t matter much anyway. There’s never a clear sky in London.” 

“You have an interest in astronomy?” 

“Had.”

“Not anymore?” 

“Well, I haven’t thought about it since. I always wished I could control the stars, you know.”

“Control them?” 

“Yeah. Make my own constellations. I’d make much better ones.”

“ _ Better _ ? What’s wrong with the constellations?” 

“They’re boring and all the Greeks got to name them.” 

“You can hardly argue that the ancient Greeks were wrong in naming the stars.”

“I can and I will, angel.”

“What constellations would you have made?” 

“I used to draw them.”

“Do you still have them?” 

“No.”

“I’ll ask Anna—”

“Don’t you dare. They’re embarrassing.”

“Crowley, I’m sure they’re lovely.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Who’s this Anna?” 

Beez had insisted on going over Aziraphale’s letters, scrounging for more ideas. Crowley only brought some of them, the ones that were less important. (Everything from Aziraphale felt important, but some letters were more revealing than others. More personal. Crowley kept those far, far away from Beez.)

Crowley cleared his throat. “Anna is, er. They’re in a relationship of sorts.”

Beez raised an eyebrow. “Thought he liked  _ you. _ ” 

“For appearance sake. Can’t have anyone knowing about his...preferences.” The lie was easy to tell, but it made Crowley’s stomach tie up in knots. 

“How serious is this relationship?” 

Crowley didn’t know why she was asking but he answered anyway. “They plan on marrying, in the future.” 

Beez seemed to perk up when he said that, which was not a familiar look on her. She was more the brooding type. Crowley was nervous about what she was about to propose. 

“You know what this means?” Beez continued. She began pouring herself a drink, not bothering to offer Crowley one. 

“They’re about to spend an obscene amount of money on a service?” 

“Aziraphale will have a  _ ring. _ An expensive ring.” 

Crowley looked to the floor. “I think he’ll notice if an engagement ring goes missing.” 

“And I think you can sweet talk yourself out of it. He’s clearly smitten.” Beez waved the letter as if the contents proved Aziraphale’s feelings. 

Aziraphale just spoke like that with everyone. Crowley wasn’t about to admit it, though. Beez already believed this whole charade, and Crowley couldn’t argue with her about this plan, as terribly as he thought it would go. 

He was less silver tongued than he liked to admit. Maybe he could find another ring somewhere? Though stealing from a jeweler was a lot more complicated than he’d like. 

Lately, he’d been in the habit of avoiding Aziraphale, which meant avoiding Anna as well. He felt more guilty about the latter. 

He told himself he was giving them time together (Aziraphale had told him to slow down). They were getting married, after all, and he couldn’t be a real part of either of their lives. 

The real reason is that he didn’t like stealing from Aziraphale and he was terrified Aziraphale would find out. 

“Crowley,” Beez said. Her feet were up on the desk as she looked him in the eyes. “I hope you don’t actually care about this man.”

Crowley collected the letters from her desk, assuming she was done with them. “Of course not.” 

“Your hesitation concerns me. The objective of this is to benefit  _ us. _ ”

“I know.”

Crowley remembered when he’d first met Beez. When Beez had found him on the streets, barely scraping by.

_ “I’ve seen you around.” _

_ Crowley—well, he hadn’t been called Crowley, yet, but he wasn’t Anthony, either—looked at her with distrust. She was dressed in all black. She wasn’t as filthy as him, but he wouldn’t describe her as being clean. _

_ “You used to be a nobleman, didn’t you?” She said it mockingly. Crowley wasn’t going to correct her about it. It wasn’t what he was anymore, anyway. _

_ “What does it matter?” he replied.  _

_ “You’re clever. I could use someone clever.”  _

_ Crowley didn’t know what she meant by that, but he kept listening.  _

_ “Most of the people I work with. Well, they don’t exactly...have the same perspicacity as I do. And I’ve seen you steal. I think you would be an excellent addition to my band.”  _

_ “What’s in it for me?” Crowley tried to seem bolder than he felt. He was starving, tired, and freezing. He would pretty much accept any offer she gave him. _

_ “You’ve been sleeping on a bench. I can give you a bed, and some dinner.”  _

_ That seemed like an excellent deal to Crowley. Better than excellent. He’d followed Beez back to the house, jam-packed full of people. Bed was an adjacent term, he had a mat on the floor, but he accepted it gladly.  _

_ “How long can I stay?” he asked.  _

_ “As long as you make yourself useful to us.”  _

Beez dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

… 

Beez was right about the ring. Aziraphale had put it on the side table. Not on display, more as if the table had been convenient. As if he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the ring. 

Crowley wondered if Anna knew what she was getting into. 

He hesitated. Aziraphale wouldn’t be gone for long and this was—

This was wrong. What if this ring was a family heirloom? What if Aziraphale actually did care? He’d be distressed about it being gone. 

_ If you go back empty-handed, Beez will be furious. _

Before he could steel himself, Aziraphale came back in, lugging a suitcase behind him. Crowley’s heart stopped. 

“What do you have there, angel?” he asked. 

“It’s for you.” Aziraphale handed it off to Crowley, and Crowley almost dropped it. Aziraphale was a lot stronger than he was. 

“Thanks,” he said uncertainly. 

“Don’t you want to know what’s inside?” 

Crowley quirked an eyebrow. “Do I?” 

“Yes!” 

Crowley put the suitcase on the ground and opened the latches. Inside, there rested a telescope. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was  _ his _ telescope, with  _ Anthony _ sketched into the side in his atrocious handwriting. Two of his notebooks were inside, too. 

“I didn’t read the notebooks, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Aziraphale told him. And then, with a smile, added, “However, I can’t promise that Anna didn’t.”

“I—” Crowley didn’t know what to say. He shouldn’t be focusing on this, he should be focusing on how the hell he was going to get that ring. 

“Of course, if you’d rather not have it—” Aziraphale began, starting to look concerned. 

Some part of Crowley, the part that missed seeing the good in the world, instantly blurted, “No. I’ll take it, obviously.” He touched it, uncertain. Ran his hand across the etching he’d so carelessly written. 

_ Don’t just keep squatting here, you idiot! _

He stood up. “Thank you.” 

Aziraphale beamed, which only made Crowley feel worse. Here he was, plotting how to take his diamond ring, and Aziraphale was giving him a gift. A very kind gift. 

“You’re welcome, my dear boy.” 

Crowley was going to go insane with guilt. “I’m sorry.” He hoped he didn’t sound like he was choking on the words.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, erasing the smile he’d had just a moment before. “What’s the matter?” 

Crowley wiped at his face. “Nothing.”

“Have I upset you?” 

“No.”

Aziraphale took a step forward, towards Crowley. His foot knocked against the suitcase. “You can talk to me.”

Crowley bit down on his tongue to keep himself from saying something truly stupid. He bent down and picked up the suitcase, fully intent on leaving. It was heavy; he had no idea how he was going to carry it all the way home. 

_ The ring. _

He gave it a quick glance. Still sitting on the table. Aziraphale was paying it no mind. 

“Are you going?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Probably should,” Crowley muttered, trying to figure out how to get Aziraphale to leave the room again. He couldn’t very well ask him to go upstairs to snatch  _ his _ bag.

“Why? You just got here. And I’ve barely seen you lately.” 

_ Where the fuck else are you going to find a diamond ring? You need this one. _

“At least stay for a drink,” Aziraphale begged. 

A drink would be a mighty fine excuse to sit down, next to the ring. Slip it in his pocket while Aziraphale was turned before making a quick escape. 

He put down the suitcase. “Yeah, alright. A drink.” 

Aziraphale relaxed as if Crowley staying was a good thing. As if he wasn’t a terrible person, a hellbeing. 

… 

Aziraphale had drank one too many glasses of wine, which was not a bad thing in the slightest. Crowley was across from him, much less intoxicated, but across from him all the same, and Aziraphale felt complete. He was glad he’d convinced Crowley to stay.

“You know,” Aziraphale said into the comfortable silence. Crowley turned to him, fully attentive. “Sometimes I  _ do _ think about running away.”

Crowley’s mouth opened. 

“Not...not seriously, of course. Could never leave. There wouldn’t be an heir.”

“Of course,” Crowley repeated, and even in his intoxicated state, Aziraphale could tell he was vexed. 

“But if I  _ did _ ,” Aziraphale continued anyway. “I’d open a bookshop.” 

Crowley laughed, and for a horrible moment Aziraphale fretted that he was making fun of him, but then he said, “I could not imagine you willingly selling a book.” 

“I wouldn’t have to,” Aziraphale replied. 

“That’s sort of the point of a bookshop, angel.”

_ Angel, angel, angel, angel, angel. _

“It would be for appearances. You would scare away all the customers.”

Crowley leaned back. “Would I?”

Aziraphale nodded. 

“Then how would we make any money to live?” 

Aziraphale finished off his glass. “Told you. It’s not serious.” He placed his glass on the empty side table. 

Crowley looked like he wanted to speak. His jaw was clenched like it always was when he was holding something back. 

Instead, he simply said, “It’s getting late.” 

“You can stay as long as you’d like.” 

Crowley seemed taken aback. “But I  _ should _ go.” 

“I don’t want you to.” 

“You must be pretty drunk.” Crowley had a smile on his face when he said it, but it was pained. 

Aziraphale was about to argue. He  _ did _ want Crowley here, even when he wasn’t drunk, but Crowley was standing up. He had the suitcase in his hand and everything. 

“I’ll be by later this week, yeah?” he said. 

“Anna will want to see you.”

Technically, Aziraphale needed to be with Anna alone. Especially now that his father had given him the ring to propose with. But Anna loved her brother, and Aziraphale would rather have Crowley around than make a mortifying proposal. 

Crowley gave him another one of those pained smiles. What was  _ wrong? _ But Aziraphale couldn’t ask. Crowley would just avoid it. 

“Alright,” Crowley told Aziraphale.

And then he was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

“I cannot believe you lost it.” Harry was on his hands and knees, looking under the couch. 

“I-I got drunk last night. Must have moved it without thinking.” Aziraphale was furiously looking through the bookshelf closest to the window. “Oh, my father is going to  _ kill me _ .” He almost felt like crying, but with Harry around, he held it in. 

“We’ll find it,” Harry said. He didn’t sound very convincing. He peeked his head over the couch, making eye contact with Aziraphale. “Was anyone else here?” 

“Crowley.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to make some lewd comment. 

“Not  _ now _ , Harry.” 

“Right, fine.” Harry moved to a dresser and began opening drawers. “Are we sure we want to find this ring?” 

“Of course I do!” Aziraphale 

“I mean, besides its financial value…” 

“What are you on about, Harry?”

“You know exactly what I’m on about.” 

Aziraphale wasted a moment to glare at him from across the room, but then he continued searching. He could not believe he’d lost this ring, of all things. He was meant to propose this week. 

“Aziraphale.” And, suddenly, Harry was much closer to him, and Aziraphale jumped. “Why can’t you admit you have feelings for the man?” 

“That doesn’t help anyone, does it?” Aziraphale retorted. “Could you please get back to helping?” 

Harry crossed his arms. “Do you think maybe this whole ring getting lost thing is a sign?” 

Aziraphale didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Does Anna know?” 

“Of course she knows I’m going to propose.” 

“Does she know that you’re in love with Crowley?” 

Aziraphale froze. Love was a strong word. He was fond of Crowley, sure, but  _ love? _

He thought of the gifts Crowley brought, the bright smiles Crowley had, the way his apple red hair looked in the sun, his vast knowledge of the plant world. 

_ I could show you so many wonderful things, Aziraphale. Anywhere you want to go. _

Crowley’s words echoed in his head. They were always there. The sincerity of them, the promise in his voice that wasn’t said aloud, but Aziraphale had heard it loud and clear. 

_ I could love you. _

“Aziraphale?” Harry asked, bringing him back to the present. 

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale finally answered his query. 

“If he makes you happy--” 

“No!” Aziraphale burst out. There was a lump in his throat, and his heart was pounding. “I  _ need _ to get married. I am the sole heir to the Fell manor, and it is my responsibility to continue the bloodline. I don’t have the luxury of fantasizing about these things and running around willy-nilly, sleeping with whomever I want without thinking of the ramifications! So I’m going to find this wedding ring, and I’m going to propose, and you and Crowley aren’t going to get into my head!” 

Harry stared at him for a long moment, long enough for Aziraphale to begin to feel guilty, but before he could start to apologize, he said, “I’ll start looking upstairs.” 

“Harry--” 

But he was gone before an apology could tumble out of Aziraphale’s mouth. 

Aziraphale took a couple of minutes, mindlessly searching for the ring and taking deep breaths until he felt like he was calm again, before following Harry upstairs. 

“I’m sorry,” he said when he saw Harry rifling through his closet. 

“You’re right,” Harry replied. “Shouldn’t press you.” 

“But I shouldn’t have snapped.” 

“Aziraphale, really. It’s fine.” 

“It-it’s not fine. I—” 

Harry picked up the box he kept in his closet. Aziraphale’s desk drawer had grown too full of Crowley’s letters as they wrote more and more, and he’d been forced to find another storage space. The desk drawer was saved for his favorite ones, the ones that made his heart flutter.

_ Oh. _

“I do love him,” Aziraphale admitted. He’d never said anything like that out loud. He could feel himself shaking. “But I know it’s wrong.” 

“It’s not wrong.” Harry placed the box down gently as if he knew the precious contents contained inside. 

“It  _ is. _ I’m meant to be engaged to Anna. I’m...I’m meant to follow the rules and-and start a family here.” 

“Crowley could always be…” Harry searched for the right word. “A mistress of sorts. A secret. You could still  _ have _ him.” 

“Crowley deserves better than that.” 

Crowley deserved to be loved wholly, to be cherished. He didn’t deserve to be someone secondary, someone hidden. He should be loved by someone who wasn’t ashamed. 

Tracy used the moment as the perfect time to open Aziraphale’s door. “No luck yet, boys?” 

Aziraphale suddenly remembered the crisis of the lost ring. “No.” 

Tracy frowned. “Seems to have vanished.” 

“It has to be around here  _ somewhere, _ ” Aziraphale grumbled. He began to walk back downstairs. That was the last place he’d had it. 

He’d put it on the side table. He was  _ sure _ of it. 

“By the way,” Tracy spoke up. “Crowley’s downstairs.” 

Aziraphale froze. “Since when?” 

“Just got here.” 

“I’ll keep looking up here,” Harry said. He had the decency to not add a suggestive comment or wink. Probably only because he felt bad about Aziraphale’s predicament for the moment. 

Crowley was standing, hands in his pocket, staring into space. 

“Good morning. You’re up early,” Aziraphale commented. Crowley was not a morning person. He usually slept late if he could help it. 

“I needed to—” Crowley looked down, not bothering to finish his sentence. 

So he was going to continue to act strange, as he had last night. 

“Well,” Aziraphale said when Crowley continued to be silent. “I’m actually on a hunt right now. I’ve, unfortunately, lost the diamond ring I was meant to give Anna. If you’d like to help…” 

Crowley still didn’t look up. He had his glasses on; Aziraphale didn’t know why he wasn’t even trying to seem like he was looking Aziraphale in the eyes. 

“I feel awful,” Crowley continued. 

“Are you ill?” 

“No. No, Aziraphale, I feel  _ guilty. _ ” 

“Guilty?” Aziraphale repeated. What on earth was he talking about? 

“You’re so kind.” Crowley’s words stumbled out of him like a drunk man on the street. “Kinder than anyone else I’ve met. And I’m...I’m  _ terrible. _ ” 

Aziraphale tutted. “Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true.” 

“Crowley, you—” 

“The ring. I took the ring.” Crowley’s words were strained, sounding like he was about to cry. 

Aziraphale was stunned. He looked from Crowley, to the table, back to Crowley. Crowley hadn’t moved. 

Finally, Aziraphale got his mouth to work. “Why?” 

Crowley hesitated. He finally looked up, and he took his glasses off. 

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. He really should be focusing on Crowley’s words, but Crowley had tears in his eyes. And his  _ eyes _ —they were lovely. Brown, just like he’d said, but such a light brown they almost looked yellow. His pupil was lighter than normal, reminding Aziraphale of the moon. 

“Please believe me,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale forced himself to focus on the situation. “I didn’t want to take it, and I shouldn’t have, and I wish I could give it back.” 

Aziraphale was at a loss. “Where...where  _ is  _ it?” 

Crowley bit his lip. Looked up to the ceiling, as if praying to God. “I’m a thief, Aziraphale. I steal from people and I give what I take to my...my friends. And I was sent here to--” His voice cracked. 

The implications of what he was going to say made Aziraphale feel faint. He didn’t want to sit down, but he grabbed the chair for support. 

Crowley had asked him to run away with him. That was  _ real _ . Crowley hadn’t been...scamming him. That would be cruel, and Crowley wasn’t cruel. 

_ Crowley’s a thief. He’s lied to you. He’s taken from you. What do you know about him? _

He remembered last night. Crowley across from him, ready to leave, and then Aziraphale had begged him to stay for a drink. And then Crowley had one glass, maybe two (Aziraphale couldn’t remember), but he’d kept pouring Aziraphale more. Enough so that he was drunk, he didn’t notice the ring get snatched from the table and stuffed into Crowley’s pocket. 

“They sent me here to steal from you,” Crowley finished. He finally looked at Aziraphale, tears spilling down his face. “And I didn’t...I didn’t want to but—” 

“But you did.” What other things had he taken? Aziraphale had the urge to go about the room, check for his belongings. 

Had Crowley been  _ manipulating _ him this whole time? With the gifts, and the grins, and, oh,  _ God _ , Aziraphale was an idiot. 

“No. Yes, I mean. I did. I’m sorry, Aziraphale, I am, but if I didn’t...Beez would— She’d kick me out, and I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. They’re all I have, except for.” Crowley choked back a sob. “Except for you.” 

_ I love you, _ he was saying. Aziraphale could feel it; his love was a tangible thing. It made him want to step away. 

“So this... _ Beez _ has the ring?” Aziraphale found himself saying.

“Yes.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “Well, she’s probably sold it by now.” He flinched to himself. 

The ring was gone. 

Aziraphale had no idea how he would explain that to his father. 

“I’m so sorry,” Crowley said. With his glasses off, Aziraphale could see his distress. He could see a lot of his emotions, emotions he had never seen before on Crowley. “I don’t know...I don’t know how to make it up to you. I just...I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay here be-because they’ll expect me to keep coming here, and I can’t do that to you, I  _ can’t _ .”

Crowley was really crying now. Aziraphale’s instincts were to go and comfort him, but that was the last thing he should do. He clutched the chair even tighter. 

“Please,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale didn’t know what he was pleading for. “Please come with me.” 

_ Oh.  _ “We can’t leave, Crowley. There isn’t anywhere to go.”

“Sure there is. It’s a big world out there. We could go...go south.” Crowley always spoke with big, gesturing hands when he was drunk, or exasperated, which was exactly what he was doing right then. “Get away from the city. Nobody would know us. And you could have your bookshop, and out back we could have a garden, and-and--” His voice hitched. 

“Listen to yourself,” Aziraphale whispered, not trusting himself to speak any louder. He couldn’t do this. Even if he did love Crowley, it didn’t matter. Love wasn’t important enough to throw everything away and run away with a man he’d known for a few months. A man who had stolen from him, and  _ lied _ to him. 

“I know we haven’t been friends for long, but it’s—”

“We could never go off together. I have duties here, and I’m getting married, and-and we’re  _ opposites _ .” 

“No, we’re not. We both like wine. And gardens. And--”

“Crowley, I think you should go.” 

Crowley closed his mouth instantly. His lip wobbled and he bit down on it, hard. He put his glasses back on and nodded. “Yeah.” He turned, heading towards the door. “Yeah, have a nice day, then.” 

Aziraphale didn’t let himself watch him go. He didn’t let himself say  _ I’ll write _ or  _ I’ll see you soon _ or  _ I’m in love with you, and I’m terribly sorry. _

Instead, he finally collapsed in his chair and let out the tears he’d been holding in, wishing he was brave enough to have told Crowley everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRASH TIME this entire fic was inspired when i listened to the countess and the common man from the musical anastasia   
> "and all of it was perfect / til you stole my diamond ring" yep yep yep


	15. Chapter 15

Aziraphale called off the search. He wouldn’t say why, and he wouldn’t explain where Crowley had gone off to, but he was clearly upset. 

Tracy offered to make some scones, that always made Aziraphale happier, but he declined. “I have an errand to run.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Harry offered. He half expected Aziraphale to say something dramatic like, _no, I can do this on my own,_ but he accepted Harry’s help. 

They were looking inside pawn shops for rings. The rings here were significantly less ornate than the one Aziraphale had lost. 

“Which one do you think looks the closest?” Aziraphale asked him. 

Harry stared at the collection of old wedding rings. Most of them were a simple silver band. 

“Maybe we should go to an actual jeweler,” he suggested. 

Aziraphale sighed. “I just want to get this over with. And every jeweler in the city is friends with my father.” 

“Get this one, then.” If Harry squinted, it sort of looked like there was a diamond on top. 

Aziraphale was less than enthused as he purchased it. It was a temporary solution and they both knew it. 

Harry put a hand on his shoulder as they left the shop. “Did you and Crowley get into an argument?” 

Aziraphale shrugged away from Harry’s touch. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I think a pint would do you good.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, almost looking like he was about to snap at him again. But then his eyes softened. “I would much rather go home. But thank you.” 

“Want me to go with you?” 

“I know you want to be out instead of watching me mope.” 

“But if you _want_ me—”

“Go, Harry. I’ll be alright.” Aziraphale gave him his best attempt at a smile. 

Harry hesitated, unsure if Aziraphale really wanted to be alone. But he was certain that Aziraphale did not want to argue with him right now, so before he crossed the street, he said, “Alright. I’ll see you later.” 

… 

Crowley had met exactly three people in Aziraphale’s life. One was Tracy, one was Anna, and one was his eccentric friend Harry. 

Harry was another rich kid, one of _twelve._ No one gave a fig what he did because there were eleven other kids to worry about, so Harry more or less ran around wild. Not wild enough to get himself disowned as Crowley had, but wild enough to have the reputation. 

Crowley had met him twice. He hadn’t spent significant time with him, but he was handsome enough, and they got along well. 

Which is why Crowley wasn’t shocked or anxious when he ran into him at the bar he was at. He was drunk, very drunk, but he could still recognize him. 

“You’re ‘Ziraphale’s friend,” he said, poking Harry’s chest. “Harry.”

“Crowley?”

Crowley laughed. Anna was a little right. It _was_ a ridiculous name. “Yeah. That’s me. Made up name.”

“How many drinks have you had?” 

Crowley shrugged. He’d been here since he left Aziraphale’s. 

No. He didn’t want to think about Aziraphale’s. That was the whole point of this. 

“We should get you home.” 

Then Harry was helping Crowley to his feet and Crowley was too sloshed to fight back. 

“You live near here?” Harry asked. 

Crowley was about to protest, he didn’t want to go home, but Harry was holding him upright and it clicked in his brain. His apartment. Where he had a bed. And a handsome man escorting him there. 

He could use this. 

“Yeah.” Crowley let himself be led out of the bar. 

They made a couple of wrong turns, everything was dark now and Crowley’s vision was impaired, but they eventually made it inside Crowley’s front door. 

Immediately as the door shut, Crowley leaned into Harry’s touch and brought their lips together in a sloppy kiss. Sloppy—because he was drunk and he didn’t care about this; he wanted to forget that Aziraphale existed and he wanted to feel _good_. 

But Harry pulled away. “What are you doing?” 

“Kissing you,” Crowley answered. It was obvious, wasn’t it? “Isn’t that why we came here?” He leaned in again, but Harry held him at arm’s length. 

“No. We can’t do this.”

Crowley pouted. “Why _not_? The walls are thin, but nobody gives a shit. Perks of living in a dump.” 

“Aziraphale would be upset.”

Crowley scowled. Aziraphale this, Aziraphale that. He just wanted to forget about him for a little bit. For a little bit, he needed to feel _wanted_. 

“He doesn’t care,” Crowley replied with a snarl because Aziraphale didn’t. He’d told Crowley to leave. His _you go too fast for me_ wasn’t a plea to slow down, it was a plea to stop altogether, and Crowley had been too stupid to see it. 

“I’m quite certain he—” Harry started, but Crowley kissed the end of his sentence right out of his mouth. 

But then, to his chagrin, Harry pulled away again. “Crowley, _stop_.” 

“If Aziraphale is going to get all bent out of shape about two of his friends hooking up—” Crowley began, spitting his words out in annoyance. 

Harry interrupted him, eyes wide. “He’s in love with you.” 

This time, it was Crowley who pushed him away. His brain was moving too slowly, and he felt like he was falling apart. He hated it, the feeling of becoming undone. 

“Why...why are you being cruel?”

“What?”

“He doesn’t—” Crowley couldn’t say it. His throat seized up and he could feel himself start to cry again. _God, I’m pathetic._ “He doesn’t. He can’t. He’s...he’s engaged to—” Crowley let out a humorless laugh. “—to my _sister_ . He told me he could never be with me, we’re _opposites_.” 

Crowley sat down on his bed, snaking his hands under his glasses to bury his head in his hands. 

Harry was silent. Crowley would’ve thought he’d left already, but he hadn’t heard the door open, and his door was so shitty that it creaked terribly. 

“He told me to leave,” Crowley sobbed. 

“I’m sorry.” He could hear Harry suck in a breath. “But I’m not lying. He really does—”

“Please don’t say it again.” Crowley couldn’t stomach it again. 

Aziraphale couldn’t. He _didn’t_. It was impossible for anyone to love Crowley, much less the future Lord Fell. Especially not him. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again. 

Crowley finally looked up. Harry was hovering near the door, most likely wishing to go, but feeling guilty leaving Crowley here, miserable. 

Crowley wiped his face. Did his best to look like he hadn’t just had a mini breakdown. “Good night, then.” 

“Crowley--” 

“Nah. No, I’m very drunk. So I’m going to bed.” He plopped down, staring at the ceiling as if that proved his intent. “Have a good night.” 

Harry hesitated. Crowley watched him out of the corner of his eye as he opened the squeaky door. “You, too.” He flinched, as it was very clear that was the opposite of how Crowley’s night was going. 

Crowley continued to stare at the ceiling for hours, unable to make himself go to bed, the events of the day cycling through his head, ending with _He’s in love with you_. 

Some bullshit, that was. 

Utter bullshit. 

…

“Good. You’re home.” Anna invited herself inside, and Crowley bit back a protest. She wouldn’t listen to him anyway. “Don’t worry, I won’t mention Aziraphale. I know you two are fighting.” 

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked. He tried, and failed, to not sound invested in the answer, but he did want to know what Aziraphale had said and how Aziraphale was doing.

“You haven’t been over in a while, and Aziraphale is moping. He only mopes about you.” 

Crowley tried not to let anything she said get to him. He was mostly surprised Aziraphale hadn’t simply told them all he was a criminal. 

_Maybe he really is--_

Crowley cut the thought off before it could finish. Aziraphale did not have any sort of feelings towards him. They hadn’t tried to contact each other at all, and it was fine. Crowley was doing fine. 

“Anyway.” Anna plopped down on his bed. Crowley glared at her before taking a seat in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk. “How are things?” 

“Not much different.” 

“That’s it? That’s all I’m getting out of you?” 

“I wasn’t aware this was an interrogation.” 

“Fine.” Anna laid down, staring up at the ceiling. 

Crowley, for the first time, noticed the ring on her finger, not as flashy as the other one, but still worth enough. Crowley wondered where Aziraphale had got it. 

“ _I’ve_ been doing terribly, if you must know,” Anna told him, snapping him away from thoughts better left alone. 

Crowley snorted at her melodrama. “And why is that?” 

“Did you know that planning a wedding is insufferable?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure.” 

“Father is making me invite Aunt Marge.” 

Crowley laughed out loud. “What I would give to see you attempt to be nice to her.” 

“She’s getting old though. Maybe she’ll die off before the service ever happens.” 

“You’re not going to attempt to curse her again?” 

“Father has forbid it.” 

“That’s never stopped you.” 

Anna rolled over, resting her chin on her hands. “I think you should come. It would cause a scandal. Make the day _truly_ memorable. Aunt Marge might have one of her fainting spells.” 

Crowley knew she wasn’t being serious. Father would have his head, and they both knew it. 

“She once caught me with Thomas Kingsley.” 

Anna’s mouth opened in shock, eyes wide with amusement and curiosity. “Where?” 

“A...bedroom. Out at the winter villa during one of dad’s parties.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“She never looked me in the eyes again.” 

Anna laughed. “That sounds like a good thing to me.” 

“Write her a letter and tell her you’re dabbling in witchcraft. She won’t want to come to the wedding.” 

“I like the way you think.” The glint in her eyes told Crowley she was legitimately considering his stupid plan. 

They transitioned into silence. Crowley tried to keep his thoughts from drifting towards Aziraphale, as they always tended to do.

“I really do wish you could come,” Anna said more seriously, sitting up. 

Crowley felt a pang in his heart. He couldn’t imagine sitting through that service. Even if it was Anna, it was also Aziraphale. He’d only be fuming in the pews, wishing against all odds that it was him. 

“Me, too,” he lied because he didn’t want her to feel bad. 

The somber moment immediately ended when Anna’s eye caught on Crowley’s wig, thrown onto the desk, and she insisted on trying it on.

She looked ridiculous, all of her hair not quite fitting inside it properly, and Crowley laughed a full belly laugh, something he hadn’t done in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not entirely proud of this chapter but at least i wrote it  
> we're nearing the finish line


	16. Chapter 16

“Feel free to ignore my advice,” Harry said one evening. “But I think you should apologize to Crowley.” He said the last part fast and finished it by sipping his drink as if that softened the blow. 

“What?” was all Aziraphale could think to say. Harry didn’t know what had transpired between them. Aziraphale hadn’t even mentioned Crowley. 

“Well,” Harry began again. He wouldn’t look Aziraphale in the eyes. “I don’t really know what happened, but you’ve been upset about it for weeks now. And you miss him.” 

“I do not--” Aziraphale began to say. 

Harry finally looked at him. “You  _ do _ . You’re miserable.” 

Aziraphale muttered into his cup, incoherent sentences he knew Harry couldn’t decipher. 

“Go talk to him.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “What if I’m waiting for him to come talk to me?” It sounded rather childish when he said it out loud and he cringed to himself. 

Thankfully, Harry didn’t point it out. “I believe he’s under the impression that you don’t want that.” 

“What do you know about it?” 

Harry refused to make eye contact again. “I may have run into him.”

Aziraphale’s heart made an attempt to leap out of his chest up through his throat. “What? When?” 

“Awhile ago. Doesn’t matter. Please go talk to him.” Harry glanced up once more. 

Aziraphale wanted to interrogate Harry about their encounter, what was Crowley up to, was he okay, did he want Aziraphale to say something? His intuitions told him that Harry would be of no assistance to his questions, and he was going to have to get up the nerve to ask Crowley himself. 

Writing a letter simply wouldn’t be right. Aziraphale was going to have to travel across town and find Bentley Drive. He’d never been to Crowley’s apartment before. 

“I will,” Aziraphale replied. He stared down at his teacup. He really wanted something stronger. 

Harry seemed to relax. “Good.”

Aziraphale felt quite the opposite, as now he had to figure out what exactly he was meant to say. 

… 

Crowley jumped when there was a knock on the door. It wasn’t Beez then. Beez didn’t knock. 

Was it law enforcement? Surely someone in the building would have warned him. Nonetheless, he shoved some valuables into his pillowcase in a lame effort to cover it up and threw on his glasses before opening the door. 

There stood Aziraphale, looking very out of place, glancing down the hallway like he was afraid. Why shouldn’t he be? This place was full of other people who were  _ opposites _ from him. 

“What are you doing here?” Crowley asked, trying to sound intimidating. 

“May I come in?” 

Aziraphale looked like he couldn’t stand to be out in the hallway for one minute longer. Crowley let him inside, giving in to Aziraphale’s plea, although his sad excuse for a flat couldn’t have been much of a comfort. It wasn’t that Crowley was a filthy person, but all he had was one room: a bed, a stove, and a desk all shoved into the same place. It was nothing like Aziraphale’s home. 

He had the urge to apologize, but surely Aziraphale hadn’t been expecting much. Not from him. He offered the desk chair to him before sitting down on the bed. 

Aziraphale was looking around, taking it all in. Crowley wished he would stop. 

“There isn’t much to see,” Crowley said. His voice made Aziraphale look to him at last. 

“You don’t have any windows.” 

“Not all of us can afford that kind of thing.” 

Aziraphale colored a little from embarrassment. “I only meant...your telescope. You can’t use it here.” 

Crowley didn’t want to think about the telescope. He opted for a quick subject change. “Surprised no one mugged you on the way in.”

“Well that—that wouldn’t… You aren’t being serious, are you?” 

“You look like a lord’s son. People would have noticed.” 

Aziraphale glanced down at his outfit. He touched his bowtie as if that was the most expensive thing he had on him. He cleared his throat. “I came to apologize.”

Crowley tried not to react, but that wasn’t what he expected Aziraphale to say. He expected him to ask for something back, to give him a message from Anna, or to reiterate their previous conversation. Not apologize. 

“For what?” Crowley asked. 

“I said some things that I regret.”

_ He’s in love with you, _ Harry had said _. _ Crowley banished the thought. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” 

Aziraphale seemed lost. Crowley watched as the gears turned in his head, trying to figure out what to say, how to make this better, because Aziraphale was good and he was kind and Crowley was the opposite. 

“I wish that I could,” Aziraphale finally said. 

Crowley’s heart stopped. “What?” 

Aziraphale was struggling, not looking Crowley in the eyes again and opening and closing his mouth, unable to determine what to say. “Run...run away with you.” 

Crowley ran the sentence through his head a couple of times, trying to wrap his head around it.  _ I wish that I could run away with you. _

The  _ wish _ hung in the air. He didn’t want to say that he  _ couldn’t _ , not again, so he simply  _ wished. _

Crowley didn’t have it in him to respond. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale said softly, and it hurt. “Surely you must know how I feel about you.”

Aziraphale didn’t love him. Or at the very least, he didn’t  _ want _ to love him. Either way, it was better for him to leave. 

“You can’t think very highly of me after all I’ve taken from you.” 

Aziraphale huffed in frustration. “Crowley--”

“Did you know that the only reason I followed you outside that first night was to take your watch?” Crowley found himself saying. Aziraphale didn’t want him, Aziraphale didn’t want to be here at all, he was only here because he felt bad, and Crowley didn’t want his pity. 

“But then you wrote to me.” 

“Because. Because I knew that you were rich.”  _ I’m a thief, you can’t want me, you should go. _

“You brought me to your garden.” 

“Not my garden anymore.” Which wasn’t the point of the conversation, but Crowley felt the need to correct him. 

Aziraphale sighed. No respectable gentleman would be caught dead in this place, so he was probably thinking of some excuse to leave. Crowley waited for it, braced himself for the words he knew were coming.

“I forgive you,” Aziraphale said instead. 

Crowley was taken aback, breathing in quickly in what he would never admit was a gasp.

“I wish that things were different, but circumstances prevent me from saying what I want to say.” 

Harry had been here a few weeks ago, telling Crowley that Aziraphale was  _ in love _ with him. It had been a ridiculous notion, a lie Harry had spat out to get out of the awkward situation, but now, sitting across from Aziraphale, Crowley could see it. 

“What is it, exactly, that you want to say?” 

Crowley knew he wouldn’t answer. Aziraphale loved Crowley against his will because of who Crowley was. If there was any sort of choice in the matter, Aziraphale wouldn’t be here. 

“We…” Aziraphale found an acute interest in Crowley’s floorboards. “We can’t be together, Crowley, even if…” He let his voice trail off. 

“Because we’re opposites?” 

Aziraphale held the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in frustration. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go,” he muttered, mostly to himself. 

“How  _ did _ you want it to go?” Crowley got up and started walking around. There wasn’t quite enough room for him to look dramatic as he paced, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stand to be sitting any longer. “Did you want me to come slithering back to your life, pretending that nothing had happened? That I’d never taken anything from you?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me that you stole some things.” 

“It should. Beez will just keep expecting me to take and  _ take _ \--” 

“I could give you money if you think that would be an issue.”

Crowley felt his face convulse in distaste. “Absolutely not.” 

“I don’t mind--”

“You love me and you won’t even say it!” Crowley exploded. He was behind Aziraphale, but he could still see him flinch. “Not even here when no one else can hear it.” 

_ Am I that undesirable? That vile to you? You can’t even whisper it across an empty room.  _

Aziraphale had the decency to at least sound guilty. “I can’t, Crowley.” 

Crowley wished he had something to throw. Something cheap that he could hurl across the room with a satisfying  _ smash. _ He wanted to scream in frustration. 

“I could be so good at this!” Crowley moved to stand in front of Aziraphale, begged him silently to look up at him. 

Aziraphale was still staring at his shoes. “At what?” 

Crowley took the two steps forward, his feet touching Aziraphale’s, which finally,  _ finally _ made Aziraphale look up. “At-at  _ love _ .” He choked on the word. “At love,” he repeated, getting on his knees in front of him, taking his hands. Pleading one last time. “At loving you, Aziraphale, I could be so  _ good. _ ”

“Crowley.”  _ I can’t. _

“I know.” Crowley didn’t want to move. He wanted Aziraphale to lean down, just a little, to press their foreheads together and kiss him despite everything. “I know, but could you--?”

He didn’t know what he wanted to ask.

_ Could you at least imagine it for a moment? Could you kiss me, just this once? Could you stay with me anyway, choose me anyway?  _

Aziraphale’s hands were limp in his own, but for a second, they twitched, as if he wanted to hold Crowley. 

Crowley reluctantly let go. He sat back on the floor, far enough away that Aziraphale would be able to stand up and leave. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. Crowley imagined that he appeared sad, but in reality, he wasn’t looking.

Crowley just nodded. If he spoke again, he would lose every ounce of control he had over his emotions. 

He didn’t remember Aziraphale leaving. He didn’t remember what Aziraphale last said to him. All he remembered was the empty feeling left in his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took the line "i could be so good at love" from dave malloy's "solo"


	17. Chapter 17

Aziraphale tried to forget about he and Crowley's argument, but it was especially difficult when Anna was Crowley’s sister. Aziraphale liked Anna’s company, but whenever he looked at her, all he could hear was  _ I could be so good at loving you _ .

And then he just felt shitty. 

Anna, currently, had taken over the kitchen. She’d never cooked before, she claimed, and she figured that she and Aziraphale should figure it out together, so they’d unearthed a cookbook from the library. She’d chosen a cake recipe-- _ it’s something we’d actually want to eat _ \--and was measuring sugar. 

Aziraphale absentmindedly wondered if the cook was going to be annoyed that they were using up these ingredients. 

“Are you going to help?” she asked, scooting the flour bowl towards him. 

“Yes, sorry.” He squinted at the page and dug through the cupboard in search of the correct measuring cup. 

When he finally found it, Anna was already mixing some ingredients together. Her hair was up in her usual messy bun, and there was butter smeared on her dress. 

If Aziraphale were another man, he was certain he’d be in love. 

“Anna,” he said, abandoning the measuring cup. She looked up expectantly. “Do you love me?” 

She stopped stirring, setting the bowl down in confusion. “I like you well enough.” 

“But do you love me?”  _ I could be so good at loving you. _

“Why are you asking me this?” 

“Because I would feel awful if you did.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and resigned himself to keeping her gaze. “I wouldn’t be able to love you in return.” 

Anna’s eyes darted towards the door like she was thinking of running. Aziraphale sincerely hoped not. 

“Well, no. I don’t have those feelings towards you. But that doesn’t matter.” She tacked on a smile at the end.

“Doesn’t it?” 

Anna was still holding the wooden spoon in her hand. She walked around the counter, pacing  ~~_ ( _ _ like Crowley did _ _ ) _ ~~ . “Of course not. I need to marry someone, and so do you, and we can get along. You don’t drive me insane, and you’d never make me do anything I wouldn’t want to do, so frankly, you’re the perfect husband.” 

“You wouldn’t be miserable?” 

Anna froze, scrutinizing him. “Would you?” 

_ Yes, _ Aziraphale wanted to say. He’d been miserable since Crowley and his first argument. He was miserable thinking of his life without him. 

Anna took his lack of response as an answer. “We could do whatever we want when we’re married, you know.” 

“We’d cause a scandal.” 

Anna scoffed. “Only if we’re caught.” Her face softened when Aziraphale didn’t even crack a smile. She finally abandoned the wooden spoon and gently took Aziraphale’s hand. “We can call it off. If you don’t want to do this.” 

“What would you do?” 

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to make you miserable.” 

Aziraphale’s father would be furious if Aziraphale called off the engagement, not to mention Anna’s. They’d already done so much planning. There was a wedding date and everything. 

“You don’t,” Aziraphale replied. "I'll be fine." 

Anna was about to argue, Aziraphale could read it in her eyes, but he cut her off before she could begin. “Let’s get back to this cake, then, shall we?” 

… 

If Beez noticed Crowley’s lack of Fell-stolen goods, she did not mention it. Which was, objectively, a good thing. If she knew he had butchered that, she would have kicked him to the curb. 

The longer he thought about it, however, maybe that’s what he needed. A brand new start. 

He’d asked Aziraphale to go with him, but he didn’t  _ need _ Aziraphale. He could go off on his own. Get out of the city and work on a farm for a little bit. And then go elsewhere. The world was his oyster, as the saying went.

_~~ Aziraphale loved oysters. ~~ _

Yes, getting away would be nice. 

Crowley spent a few weeks dawdling, bag packed and ready at the door, trying to figure out how to tell Anna. And, less importantly but far more terrifying, Beez. 

The opportunity presented itself, however, during a meeting. A group of people were assembled, half of them unknown to Crowley. It didn’t matter. He was never going to see them again.

“Crowley?” Beez said. She was looking to him for some sort of advice, but he had not been paying an ounce of attention. 

He stood up anyway, cleared his throat, and announced to the room, “I’m quitting.” 

Beez’s eyes flashed in warning. “What are you talking about?” 

“I mean,” Crowley began again. “That I am not going to work for you anymore.”

Everyone else around the table was doing their best to hide their shock. “He can’t quit,” Hastur said, breaking the silence. 

“ _ We _ tell you when to go,” Beez added. 

“Well. I quit. So.” Crowley shrugged. And that wasn’t the dramatic exit he was exactly hoping for, but it was as good as any, so he turned to head towards the door. 

“Is this because of that nobleman?” Hastur demanded.

Crowley cursed himself for stopping. “No.” 

“Do you honestly believe he’ll take  _ you _ in?” Beez scoffed. 

Crowley faced her once more. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going anyway.” 

“You have nowhere to go! I’ve provided everything you have: your home, your food--”

“I think I’ll manage.” 

Beez was fuming. “After I took you in, and shared everything I had with you for all these years, and this is what you’re going to do? Walk out?”

Crowley swallowed the guilt he felt. It was overshadowed by his anger towards her. “Yes.” 

Beez sat back down, but her fury did not die down. “He’ll realize you’re nothing, and you’ll come creeping back here.” 

Aziraphale had already let Crowley go, which was fine. It was what Aziraphale wanted. But that really should have made Beez’s words fall uselessly to the floor, but they punched through Crowley's gut. 

Instead of replying, however, he turned his back and walked out. 

… 

Newton Pulsifer was not the man Crowley would have sent to intimidate him. He was an awkward guy, not scary-looking at all. Crowley had to admit that he didn’t know why Beez kept him on, but the kid was nice enough. Not the best description for a successful thief, but it just meant that Crowley had always gotten along with him. 

“Tell Beez I say  _ fuck off. _ ” Crowley was struggling to carry his trunk that housed his telescope. He refused to leave that behind. (His notebooks were inside too, stuffed with letters from Aziraphale that he should have abandoned long ago but was too attached to. He also had a shoulder bag, full of clothes and a book he’d convinced Aziraphale to loan him a long time ago. He planned to see Anna tomorrow, give her the book and tell her goodbye.)

Newt seemed sufficiently afraid of Crowley, but the next words to come out of his mouth made Crowley stop dead in his tracks. “Beez didn’t send me.” 

“Then what?” 

Newt wet his lips and stared down the street. It wasn’t that late, people were still milling about. “Tonight is the engagement party.” 

Crowley was well aware of Anna and Aziraphale’s engagement party. “So?” 

“Beez is...going to Aziraphale’s. I don’t know what she plans to do, exactly, but I didn’t know if you knew. I know you quit, but it felt like. Something you’d want to know.” 

Everything that had value to Aziraphale was in that library. His books might be considered of some worth, but Crowley didn’t imagine Beez would go after them. They weren’t the valuables she was after. 

Would Aziraphale blame him for this? 

Crowley handed the heavy trunk to Newt. “Hold this.” 

“What?” 

Crowley might as well go. Make sure the books were alright. Aziraphale would be upset if anything happened to them, and this was all Crowley’s fault. He’d told Beez about Aziraphale, explained how to get into the house, told her about the goddamned  engagement party _. _

“I’m going.” 

Newt was having trouble keeping up with Crowley with the trunk, but he wasn’t trying to give it back. “Why?” 

“Cuz I’ve fucked everything else up. Might as well make sure Aziraphale’s library goes untouched.” 

Newt didn’t seem to want to question Crowley over that line of reasoning. “Right. So what’s in this trunk?” 

“A telescope.” 

“Why do you have a telescope?” 

If Newt was going to pester him with questions, Crowley was going to insist on carrying the trunk himself. 

He must’ve sighed, because Newt said, “Fine. Guess we’ll walk in a brooding silence.” 

Crowley was impressed with his snark. But it was less of a brooding silence when Newt was still struggling with the trunk, breathing heavily. 

“Just give it back,” Crowley finally relented. 

“Oh, thank you.” Newt looked him over. “I could take the--” 

“No.” 

“Okay.” 

Crowley wasn’t sure how much of a head start Beez had on him, but he subtly picked up the pace, hoping he wouldn’t find the house in shambles when he finally got there. 

… 

At least at parties now, Aziraphale’s father did not expect him to dance. Aziraphale could hang around the refreshment table as long as he wished.

However, when the party was centered around he and Anna’s engagement, he found that even more people wanted to speak with him. He didn’t even know half of the attendees. He wanted to go  _ home _ , but he couldn’t exactly run out on his own party.

“You look terrible,” Anna leaned over and whispered. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale replied. He couldn’t imagine the terrible gossip that would arise if he continued to look this wretched. 

“If you go home, I’ll say you fell ill.” 

“I don’t want people worrying about me.” 

Anna rolled her eyes. “What people?” 

As much as he hated it, she was right. The people who would worry would know the illness would be a fib. 

“It’s our engagement.” 

“Which you don’t give two figs about. Go home.” Anna lightly pushed him towards the exit. “Your father is on the other side of the room. Now’s your chance.” 

Aziraphale didn’t really have it in him to continue arguing, anyway. He gave Anna a grateful smile before making a less than dignified exit. 

His home wasn’t far from the Device’s and it wasn’t long before he was sitting in his library, bowtie loosened around his neck as he finally relaxed. 

They’d sent everyone home for the night. No need for the servants when they were planning on being at that party all night. Aziraphale didn’t mind the quiet. 

Although...it didn’t sound like it was very quiet. 

“Did you hear that?” 

His eyes shot open. There was someone else here. 

“Don’t be--” 

Two men walked into the room, each carrying bags. Aziraphale had a couple of guesses as to what could be inside. 

“Thought no one was going to be home!” one of them exclaimed, dropping the bag. Aziraphale, with a flinch, heard something smash inside. 

“Detain him!” 

Aziraphale’s brain was moving at a slower pace than it should’ve, and it took him a second to realize they were talking about  _ him _ . He should really get up and try to--to… What exactly was he supposed to do in this situation? 

He didn’t have time to figure it out. The man, although smaller than him, was stronger than he looked. 

“Beez, we have a situation!” the other yelled. 

_ Beez. _ Crowley had mentioned a Beez. Was Crowley here? Aziraphale found himself, despite the situation, feeling a rush of excitement at seeing the redhead. 

“What sort of  _ situation _ ?” A woman, Beez, demanded, coming into the room. She met eyes with Aziraphale, and he was shocked to see how endless the black of her pupils seemed to be. “Aziraphale, I presume.” Then she smiled, which looked worse. “Walking out on your engagement party?”

Every muscle in Aziraphale’s body was telling him to get out of here. “I--Well. It-It’s been quite the night, you see--” Aziraphale made it sound like he was going to keep talking nonsense, but twisted as fast as he could, kicking the man who had been holding him as hard as he could and promptly running in the opposite direction. 

He heard a scuffle behind him, Beez yelling at someone to go after him. In his haste to leave, he knocked over a fire-lit lantern. 

If he had been two inches to the left, if he had missed the lantern, he wouldn’t have stopped and yelped as it hit the floor. He watched in horror as the oil spilled, a fire beginning to blossom on the floor.

He barely had a moment to process that before he was tackled to the ground. He felt his head hit something hard, and suddenly the world went dark; Crowley, the library, and the thieves forgotten.


	18. Chapter 18

Crowley had never been afraid of fire. It reminded him of somewhere like home; it meant warmth and safety and light. 

But seeing the fire engine race by as he neared Aziraphale’s home sent terror through him. 

“You don’t think…” Newt said. 

Crowley dropped his trunk and took off running, his instincts screaming that something was wrong. His instincts, unfortunately, were right, as Aziraphale's house was on fire. 

Crowley had never seen a house on fire. Read about a couple of fires in the paper, but never _seen_ it. It was horrible. Maybe he just thought that because he'd been inside before and because he knew that Aziraphale would be upset by this, but the flames made him seize up in horror.

There were many people in front of the house, all talking and looking in awe at the fire blazing before them. 

This was Beez’s fault. Crowley knew with every fiber of his being that she’d done this, which meant by accessory, it was  _ his _ fault. 

“Crowley!” He heard Anna’s voice and froze. Aziraphale would be nearby, and he’d hate Crowley, despise him. He was considering making a mad dash away, but she caught his arm. She looked frantic, which wasn’t a good sign. “What are you doing here?” 

He didn’t have an excuse. He was too caught off guard to even act aloof about the question. 

She barely waited for an answer. “Have you seen Aziraphale?” 

“What do you mean? Your party was tonight.” 

“He left early, said he was going home, and no one’s seen him--” 

Crowley didn’t wait for her to finish. He didn’t hear if she called after him or not, he just turned and impulsively ran into the house. It was surprisingly easy, not a single person tried to stop him, but maybe no one wanted to run into a burning house themselves. 

He started coughing immediately, as there was an excessive amount of smoke inside, but he didn’t let that stop him. He ran as fast as he could into the library. That’s where Aziraphale would be. 

It was on fire. A very obvious statement, but it still shocked Crowley to see a place that was once so comforting diminished to something straight out of hell. 

He called out Aziraphale’s name. He  _ had _ to be here because he wasn’t out there. 

The only answer he got was the sound of the crackling flames, and his panic rose. He swallowed it the best he could as he scanned the room, dodging the worst of the fire as he made his way around, trying to find some hint of where his friend was. 

“Aziraphale!” he yelled as loud as he could. Surely he’d hear him. Surely he’d say something, but there was nothing, nothing,  _ nothing. _ “Where are you, you idiot? I can’t find you!” 

A bookshelf to his left collapsed and he jumped. The rational part of his brain was telling him to get out of here or he’d surely die, but he was oddly fascinated--a peculiar sense of horror--with the way the flames were spreading. 

_ The books. _

Jesus, the bookshelves were on fire. Aziraphale’s most beloved possessions, being reduced to ash. 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he cursed to himself. 

He still had his bag on him and quickly threw his clothes to the floor to make more room. Then, he began to shove everything he could inside, cursing out Beez and everyone else who had probably been with her.

They were bastards, all of them.

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing?” Anna seemingly materialized next to him. She had a cloth held to her face, filtering the smoke. “They’re saying the house may collapse.” 

“And you thought you’d just waltz right in, then.” 

“You came in first!” 

“I can’t find Aziraphale.” 

“He’s clearly not here. We need to go.” 

“Aziraphale’s books--” 

“Leave the goddamn books and come _ on! _ ” She pulled on Crowley’s arm, and she was a lot stronger than she looked, so Crowley had no choice but to follow her out the back door and into the yard.

People were shouting, their words muddled together. Crowley clutched the books to his chest as if that would keep them safer. 

_ Where is Aziraphale where is Aziraphale where is Aziraphale where is-- _

“You’re an idiot,” Anna muttered, her eyes watching the fire, but flicking to Crowley intermittently. 

“He wasn’t in there.” 

“No.” 

“Then where is he?” 

“I don’t know, but there were perfectly capable firemen standing right there!” She gestured towards them, but they seemed rather perplexed by the entire ordeal. Crowley wouldn’t have trusted them to save anyone’s life. 

“I couldn’t just watch. He-he’s gotta be somewhere, right? Somewhere--” 

There was a terrible groan, the sound of an entire floor collapsing, and the house caved in on itself. All Crowley and Anna could do was watch. 

Crowley felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t find it in him to speak, much less look at Anna. 

The mass of people never dissipated, there were still shouting from the firemen and conversations between people, but it all seemed to dim to Crowley. 

Aziraphale was his best friend. What if he’d been killed? What was Crowley supposed to do?

All he heard was a roaring in his ears until, “Crowley, Crowley!” Newt was struggling to carry Crowley’s stupid trunk. “You left your--” He set it in front of him, out of breath. “--telescope.” 

“Who’s this?” Anna asked. 

Crowley glared at the telescope. He should’ve left it. It was too heavy, but he didn’t want  _ Beez _ to have it. She’d just sell it. 

“Oh, er.” Newt stumbled over his words as Crowley continued not to answer. “I-I’m Newton Pulsifer. I work with Crowley. Sometimes. Not often.” He cleared his throat. “Where’s Aziraphale?”

“We don’t know.” 

“Oh.” 

Crowley wanted to cry. Curl up in a ball right there on the ground, who gave a shit that there were people all around, and stay there until someone could confirm that Aziraphale was alright. 

Surely he was alright. Crowley would have seen him in the library if he was in the house. Unless he had been upstairs. 

Upstairs, where Crowley had never been, and now it didn’t exist, as the fire had eaten it away. 

If Aziraphale had gotten out of the house, he’d be  _ out  _ here. Anna would have seen him. 

Beez did this. 

_ Beez did this. _

“Crowley?” Anna said, breaking him out of his spiral. He turned to her, acknowledging her voice. “I see Father.” 

Crowley didn’t bother looking, just lowered his head inconspicuously. As if this night couldn’t get any worse. “Shit.” 

Anna murmured that she’d meet Crowley at a bar somewhere-- _ “Newton, you go with him.” “It’s, um. It’s just Newt, actually.” “Newt, please go with him.” _ \--and then Crowley was slithering away from the scene of the crime, Newt at his heels, forced to carry the cursed telescope again. 

“You can just leave it,” Crowley growled after a couple of blocks of having to put up with Newt’s panting. 

“But. It’s yours.” 

“Doesn’t matter much anyway. It’s an inconvenience.” 

“We’ve gotten it this far.” Crowley scowled. He  _ really _ wasn’t in the mood for any sort of optimism, not right now. “Besides, we’re almost there.” 

Newt, thankfully, was right, and Crowley ordered the most potent alcoholic beverage available. Newt just sat and watched. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked, after an excruciating silence. 

“No.” Crowley was going to sit here and get drunk and try to get the image of flames out of his head. 

“It’s just. Aziraphale must. Mean a lot to you.” 

“He was my best friend. I lost my  _ best friend.” _ Crowley, embarrassingly, felt his lip tremble, and covered it up by finishing off his drink, and then calling the bartender over to refill it. 

“We don’t know if he’s dead,” Newt pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll never want to speak to me again.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true.” 

“My fault his house burned down.” 

Newt didn’t have anything to say to that. Crowley was perfectly intent to wallow in his sorrows in silence, but Newt apparently, didn’t get the hint. “Do you think Beez took him?” 

“Took him?” Crowley repeated. 

“For ransom.” Newt glanced around the bar, afraid that others would overhear. “Mr. Fell is worth a lot of money, and Aziraphale is the sole heir to the fortune. He’d pay it pretty quick. Easy money.” 

Crowley stood up. Newt watched him with wide eyes.  “Um, where are you going?” 

“You’re right,” Crowley said. “I’m going to Beez’s.” 

“She...kind of hates you. No offense. But that’s not the best plan.”

“Wherever Aziraphale is, I’m going.” 

“But we don’t know if he’s there.”

Damn it all, Newt was right again. So Crowley sat back down. Sipped his drink. Tried not to cry. 

What a pathetic man he made. 

“ _ I _ could go,” Newt finally said. 

“Go where?” 

“To the house. See if Aziraphale is there and then...call the police.” 

“The  _ police? _ ” Crowley’s voice raised a few octaves. “If you call the police, Beez’ll rat us both out, and then we’ll all go to prison.” 

“Oh.” 

Crowley debated it in his head for a few moments and then ushered Newt to his feet. “Just go find Aziraphale and then. Then we’ll figure out what to do.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Crowley pushed him towards the exit. “Meet me back here.” 

“You’re going to stay here all night?” 

“Where else am I going to go?” Crowley was homeless again. It didn’t really bother him, he had enough connections to crash at a seedy hotel if he really needed somewhere to stay. 

“Then. I’ll see you.” 

“Don’t let Beez know about me.” 

And with that, Newt was gone. Crowley only felt a little bit guilty sending him on his way.


	19. Chapter 19

The house didn’t seem any different than usual, always bursting with people, loud, and quite frankly, smelly. Newt did his best to seem inconspicuous. He was pretty ignorable in the first place, so it wasn’t very hard. 

He made his way over to Beez’s room and peeked his head inside. Unfortunately, he was immediately spotted. 

“Pulsifer!” barked Hastur. 

Newt jumped and hit his head on the doorframe. “Yes?” 

“Your father was a doctor, was he not?” Beez demanded. 

Newt scanned the room, and he had a moment to pat himself on the back for being right, because there was a well-dressed man in the room that no doubt was Aziraphale, as he was tied to a chair. He was, however, also unconscious, thus the need for someone who was doctor-adjacent. 

“Er, yeah,” Newt answered. 

Hastur ushered him inside. Only when Newt got closer did he realize that there was blood staining Aziraphale’s white hair. 

_ That’s not good. _

“Did you hit him?” Newt asked in a small voice. His father had been a doctor, but that didn’t mean that he knew anything about the human body. 

“He fell,” Beez growled. She never sounded happy, but she sounded  _ especially _ pissed off. Newt bit the inside of his cheek as he pretended to examine the wound. He had no idea how to handle this. 

“It’s...stopped bleeding,” Newt said.

“Obviously,” Beez retorted. 

“Do you want him to wake up? Maybe if you...flicked water on his face…” Newt’s voice trailed off and he stepped back. “He’ll probably be fine.”  _ Jesus, I hope he’s fine. Crowley will have my head. _

“Always helpful, you are,” Beez muttered. 

Newt took that as his cue to exit. He needed to get back to Crowley, anyway. This time, he adeptly dodged the doorframe. 

… 

When Aziraphale regained consciousness, he immediately wished he hadn’t. His head  _ hurt _ and he couldn’t get comfortable. A few seconds later and he realized that was because he was tied to a chair. 

How inconvenient. 

When he finally managed to open his eyelids, it took more energy than he thought it should, he realized he wasn’t alone in the room. A woman sat opposite to him, behind a desk, her feet propped up as she read a book. 

HG Wells. Aziraphale could do without. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but he realized he didn’t know what to say. All he could really focus on was the pounding in his head. 

“You’re awake,” the woman said. She didn’t look up from her book, her voice monotone. “Glad you’re not dead.” 

Aziraphale glanced towards the door. He could hear lots of people out there. Where were they? 

“Please don’t start yelling or something else moronic,” she continued. “Everyone out there works for me.” 

“What do you want with me?” Aziraphale finally pieced the words together. 

“It must be obvious. Your father will pay a great sum for your good health. I’ve already sent my people to begin the transaction.” 

Any movement Aziraphale made caused his head to feel worse. He bit his lip, trying to keep himself under control. He absolutely could not cry here, not in front of her. 

_ Father is going to kill you. You should’ve been able to fight off a couple of petty thieves. _

Thieves. Crowley must be here. He had to be here. 

Not that Aziraphale expected Crowley to let him go, but he could do with a friendly face, at least. “Where’s Crowley?” 

Slowly, the woman (Beez was a strange name, reminding Aziraphale of the sound a fly made) closed the book. When she looked at Aziraphale, he instantly wished she hadn’t. Her eyes were an unsettling blue, too bright for the blacks of her pupils. 

“Why do you ask about  _ Crowley? _ ” She spat his name. It filled Aziraphale with a fury he didn’t know was possible when his head hurt this much. He liked Crowley's name. It deserved to be said with love, not spat in his face.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Aziraphale said instead. “He works with you.” 

She didn’t react. He didn’t know if he’d said the wrong thing until -- “That bastard.” 

“Beg your pardon?” 

“He told you about us?” she demanded. She didn’t wait for him to answer. “ _ Bastard. _ He’s been working with you this entire time?” 

“Well, no.” 

“No? For how long, then?” 

Aziraphale’s mind wasn’t working at full capacity. “Uh…” 

His confusion made her have another realization. “No. No, you don’t know where he is. He didn’t leave for you.” 

_ Leave? _

Crowley was gone? He’d never said goodbye! 

Which really shouldn't be surprising, given the fight they'd had. Aziraphale still felt betrayed and disappointed, however. Surely Crowley would have at least said goodbye to Anna. 

But where had he gone? Out of the city? Away from Beez? How far away was  _ leaving _ ? Aziraphale could feel himself panicking as he realized he was alone here, with no chance of anyone coming for him.  Except, of course, his father paying the ransom. 

That would not end well for Aziraphale. 

“So he told you he was stealing from you, and you were upset, and he left.” She rolled her eyes. "What an idiot."

Aziraphale didn’t reply. 

“But you still want to see him right now.” She wasn’t asking questions. She was making (fairly accurate) guesses. “Does it not bother you? Or do you just believe he could get you out of this situation?” 

Aziraphale didn’t know what he thought. His head hurt, and he was tired, and things were a little fuzzy. He wanted Crowley to be here, which was all he could focus on. 

_ Crowley isn’t coming. _

He wished he hadn’t woken up.

“In any case,” Beez continued, picking back up her book. “I’ll be rich in a few hours, and you can forget all about this. Run back to your boyfriend.” 

Aziraphale wished he could.

… 

“What if Newt doesn’t come back?” Anna said. 

She was holding Crowley’s drink in her hands, though she hadn’t sipped it. Crowley had already had three, it was probably best if he stopped anyway. 

“He’ll come back,” Crowley replied. Beez had no reason to keep Newt. 

“Well. I mean, what if he’s  _ killed _ ,” she whispered. 

Crowley barked out a laugh. “They won’t kill him. That’s too messy.” 

“Seriously? They just burnt down a house!” 

“That was probably an accident. We’re thieves, not murderers.” 

Anna pursed her lips. Crowley wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t believe him, or if she had nothing else to say. 

Crowley drifted into his thoughts, as he didn’t have a conversation to focus on. He was trying not to think about what would happen if Newt came back and said Aziraphale wasn’t there. If Aziraphale had been in the fire… If Crowley had been too late.

“Stop looking so miserable,” Anna said. 

“‘M not.” Crowley leaned back further into his chair, clutching the bag of books as tightly as he could. Aziraphale would be relieved to see that some of it made it out. 

Or maybe he would be furious that this was all that was left. And it was Crowley’s fault. 

“You’re a terrible liar.” Anna swirled the drink, examining it, but still not bringing it to her lips. Crowley debated stealing it back.

“I’m a  _ great _ liar. Best liar around. It’s part of the job description.” 

“Don’t know how you managed, then.” 

“Me neither.” Crowley mumbled it, not loud enough for Anna to catch it. 

She didn’t even notice he said anything, though, because her eyes lit up as she saw something behind him. Crowley turned and saw Newt shuffling over to where they were sitting, apologizing as he bumped into someone. 

“Hello again,” he greeted Anna. 

She gave him a kind smile. “Hello.” 

“How are you?” 

“I’m doing quite well, considering the circumstances. You?” 

Crowley was going to throw up. “Newt,” he barked. Anna shot him an unhappy look. 

Newt jumped. “Right. Yeah. So the good news is that Aziraphale is at Beez’s. But that’s also bad news. And he hit his head. But he’s not...dead.” 

"Hit his head?" Crowley asked. Beez had _hurt_ him? Crowley felt a fury he’d never had towards the woman.

"Yeah." Newt swallowed nervously, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm sure he's fine," Anna said to Crowley. "We just need to figure out how to get him out of there, yeah?"

He didn’t have an answer for her. He couldn’t just saunter in and demand they give Aziraphale to him. Beez had a couple people much more intimidating than Newt that could definitely cause some damage. And they couldn’t call the police, either; Beez would rat both Crowley and Newt out, and Crowley was  _ not _ going to jail. 

The most successful course of action was waiting for Lord Fell to pay off the ransom, but that didn’t sit right with Crowley. He had to try something. 

Lucky for him, he was a quick thinker. 

… 

To think that just a few hours ago, Crowley had walked out of here and thought it would be the last time he’d ever have to see these people again. 

He didn’t let himself hesitate in front of the door. He opened it without ceremony and walked inside like he knew exactly what he was doing. 

He was far from being unrecognizable, with his bright red hair and his sunglasses. Conversations faded into hushed whispers. No one advanced towards him, that was good at least, but he saw Ligur duck into Beez’s office. She stepped outside before he could get near the door. 

Newt said that’s where Aziraphale was. He wondered if he was awake. If he was scared. 

His fists clenched at his sides. 

“Get the fuck out,” Beez said to Crowley. 

“I’d love to,” Crowley replied. “I’m here for Aziraphale.” 

“Are you daft? You really think I’d hand him over?” 

“No.” Crowley glanced around, giving the impression that he had all the time in the world. He couldn’t care less about these proceedings. “But I doubt you want anyone to find that he’s here. A kidnapping charge is pretty nasty. Might land you in prison.” 

Beez laughed without humor. “You expect me to believe that you called the cops?” 

“Of course I didn’t. Aziraphale’s fiancé did. She’s very concerned for him, and I was very amenable towards pointing her in the direction of those most likely to have taken him.” 

Beez’s eyes narrowed. “You’re bluffing.” 

Crowley shrugged like he didn’t care whether she thought that or not. “You could stay and find out.” 

“You take me for an  idiot , Crowley.” 

“No, I think you’re very calculating. I think that, right now, you’re thinking of all these people here, and how they’ll react if you bargain wrong about this. It would be very unfortunate for you to lose everything you’ve built these past few years, all because you didn’t heed my warning.” 

Beez was a lot faster and a lot stronger than she looked. Crowley barely registered her movement until he was pinned roughly against the wall, Beez snarling at him. For the first time, he was utterly terrified she’d gut him right here. 

“I wish I had never wasted my time with you,” she hissed. 

Crowley opened his mouth to say something witty, but a crash from Beez’s office made everyone in the room freeze. 

_ Goddamnit _ . 

He was going to strangle that Newt kid, as he was positive it was him who had made the noise. 

“Get in there!” Beez yelled, not letting go of Crowley. 

She was going to kill him. Literally. He tried wiggling free, but her grip was iron tight. 

A woman came back from inspecting the office, eyes wide. “The nobleman is gone, and Ligur is on the floor.” 

Beez let out an impressive string of curses. “They couldn’t have gotten far! Run after them!” 

Half a dozen people scrambled out the door, and the others remained staring right at Crowley and Beez. 

She lifted Crowley and slammed him harder against the wall, fury palatable in the air. “If I don’t get my money, you’re done.” 

Crowley wondered how many bodies she’d disposed of before. He’d never personally seen to it, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that was something on her resume. 

“I feel like we--We could talk this out before resorting to any sort of violence--”

“You always were soft.” 

Crowley scoffed. “Soft? I’ve never been soft. Too much skin and bones to be soft.” 

“If you don’t shut your godawful mouth--”

“Let him go.” Newt was standing a few feet away, looking scared out of his wits. Crowley rolled his eyes. Anna had, no doubt, sent him in to save his ass, but a lot of good that kid was going to do. 

“Are you fucking with me?” Beez threw Crowley to the ground, which hurt more than he’d like to admit. 

As she approached Newt, he backed away. The kid didn’t even have a weapon. 

“You’re on this traitor’s side?” Beez asked. 

No one was coming to Newt’s aid, just watching the drama unfold. Crowley had to admit that he would have been the same way a few months ago. 

Now, however, he was scanning the room to find something to fight his way out with. 

“I wouldn’t say...on his  _ side, _ ” Newt stammered out, tripping over a chair that he had backed into. “That's a strong word. Just. Wouldn’t you rather. Kill him somewhere less incriminating?” 

The others did not notice Crowley grab an umbrella from the corner of the room, all eyes fixated on Beez. 

“No one,” Beez said. “Would even notice Crowley was gone.” 

“You’re an asshole,” Crowley replied from behind her. He hit her with the umbrella with as much force as he could. 

He did not wait to find out if she was still conscious. He grabbed Newt’s arm and made a run for it. He knew Beez would call that cowardly, running away from a fight like that. He didn’t care, as long as he made it out alive. 

There were a handful of people following them, but Crowley knew his way around well enough to lose them without much of a fuss. He pulled Newt into an alleyway, behind a mass of boxes. 

When he finally caught his breath, he asked, “Aziraphale?” 

“With Anna.” Newt was just as out of breath. “Took him to a doctor.” 

“A doctor. Good. Yeah.” Crowley glanced around the boxes. He couldn’t see anybody, but he sat back anyway. He needed a few minutes. He was not very athletically inclined, and from the sound of Newt’s gasping, neither was he. “You shouldn’t have come back for me.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“I am not saying thank you. You were the opposite of help.” 

“I was a distraction. It worked perfectly.” 

Crowley realized he still held the blasted umbrella and let out a laugh. Newt joined in after a few seconds. 

"So what did you knock over in there?" Crowley asked. 

"Wasn't me. Anna hit Ligur with a chair." 

"Christ." 

"Yeah." 

Then they sat in silence, their breathing slowly returning to normal. 

“We’re going to have to get out of the city,” Newt said. It sounded like he was thinking aloud, but Crowley answered anyway.

“Good thing I already packed.” 

“Would you…” Newt started, but then clamped his mouth shut. 

Crowley realized he had no idea how old Newt was. He couldn’t have been older than 20, but he’d been with Beez since he was much younger than that. He, just like Crowley, didn’t have anything else, and he’d thrown it away for Crowley. 

“I don’t really know where I’m going,” Crowley replied. “But you’re free to tag along. Two’s better than one.” 

Newt seemed relieved by that. He gave Crowley a smile before getting to his feet. “We should meet back up with Anna and Aziraphale, then.” 

Crowley hesitated. Aziraphale probably didn’t want to see him. 

But he did need to say goodbye to Anna, at least, and so he agreed, “Yup. Let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew i haven't updated in a hot minute. school got really busy but now that we are all Self Isolating i've taken time out of my netflix binging to actually work on this   
> my GOAL is to finish it in the next 2-3 weeks so we'll see


	20. Chapter 20

Aziraphale had never considered the advantages of being a socialite. Anna, upon the suggestion that Aziraphale should see a doctor on account of his head, immediately listed off three people she was acquainted with that could be of service. 

Aziraphale felt useless as he walked alongside Anna. He didn’t know where he was, and he was exhausted and worried about Crowley. Anna had sent in Newt for backup, but, no offense to him, he didn’t seem like the most formidable specimen. They really had no idea if Crowley was dead or alive, injured or okay.

He tried to relax as the doctor examined his head. Anna had to help wash his head, and it stung. The doctor was asking him questions, and Aziraphale did his best to pay attention rather than continue to fret. 

Where was Crowley? 

“You’re lucky you don’t need stitches. Best to just rest up.” 

Anna began talking, and although it most definitely pertained to Aziraphale, he found himself staring at the wall opposite to him, not paying an ounce of attention. 

Finally, Anna made him stand up. “We’re meeting Newt.” 

“And Crowley?” 

Assuming they’d made it out. Aziraphale shuddered with the thought of either of them getting hurt because of him. 

Anna gave him a knowing look. Aziraphale only had a second to feel guilty before she said, “Yeah, he’ll probably be there, too,” and then he was flooded with relief.

The notion of seeing Crowley again kept him walking down the street, although all he wanted to do was curl up somewhere and  sleep _. _

It was the middle of the night; no reasonable person was awake. Anna and Aziraphale walked close to each other. 

“Anna,” he said after a long time. “Would you be angry if I didn’t go back?” 

Anna turned to him. They kept walking at the same pace, but her face was trained on his. “Are you thinking about not going back?” 

Aziraphale fiddled with his waistcoat. It was cold out here, but he didn’t want to voice his complaints. He hadn’t been wearing his coat when he’d been apprehended. He supposed it was back at the house, sitting on his chair as always. 

“I don’t know,” he said, not wanting to admit it out loud. It was a dangerous thing, voicing one’s feelings. “If Crowley…”  _ If Crowley still wants me. _

“I’ll miss you,” Anna replied, sensing his anxiety about speaking of the subject. “But I won’t be mad.” She smiled at him, and the rest of the tension Aziraphale had been holding in was released. 

All he could hope for was that Crowley was at the meetup point so that he could apologize. Again. 

It seemed to take hours to get there. At first, he only saw Newt sitting on the bench, and his heart dropped. But as they got closer, sure enough, Crowley was sprawled right next to him. To anyone else, he might’ve looked nonchalant, but Aziraphale saw his nerves protruding from his stiff legs, his clenched jaw. 

Aziraphale watched him. He couldn’t focus on anything else, and he couldn’t find an ounce of shame inside him to get himself to stop. Crowley stared right back until Anna said something to him in a hushed tone. He nodded, and then she turned to Newt. “C’mon.” 

“Where?” Newt asked, but he had already stood up. 

“Does it matter?” Anna grabbed his hand and they turned a corner together. Crowley watched them go before looking back to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale was at a loss for words. Crowley wasn’t hurt, at least. Not that he could see. His glasses were low on his nose, giving Aziraphale the smallest glance to his eyes. (He was beautiful.)

He was holding a bag, and a trunk sat at his feet. Aziraphale realized he recognized it; it was the trunk that housed his telescope. Crowley was packed and ready to go. 

“You must be freezing,” Crowley said. He scooted over slightly, sat up a little bit, inviting Aziraphale to sit next to him.

Aziraphale accepted the subtle offering.  “I’m okay,” he lied. He could barely feel his hands, but there wasn’t much Crowley could do about it. “I’m rather burnt out, but I was hoping to-to see you.”

Crowley was staring ahead, running his fingers over the bag. “I’m sorry.” 

“Whatever for?” 

“Your house, angel… The entire library…” 

Aziraphale didn’t know what he was getting at, but he sounded distressed about it, which only made his heart sink. 

“I don’t know how the fire caught,” Crowley continued. “If I hadn’t...if I’d been more careful, Beez never would’ve been there, and I’m sorry.”

Slowly, Aziraphale realized what he meant. His library was gone, burnt down on the other side of the city.  It was impossible to imagine. Although, Aziraphale vaguely recalled a lantern hitting the floor, a lantern  _ he _ had knocked over, and now his collection of books was most definitely a pile of rubble. 

_ Bugger.  _

Aziraphale was surprisingly glad that he hadn’t been there. He never wanted to see the damage; he wanted to remember that place as it always had been.

Aziraphale stilled one of Crowley’s hands by placing one of his own over Crowley’s. Crowley’s head turned to face Aziraphale. It was a dangerous display of affection, but no one else was on the street. “None of that, dear boy.” 

The knowledge that his house was gone should have been more distressing. Another man might’ve been furious. The loss of his library was admittedly dispiriting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be that upset, and especially not to place any sort of blame on Crowley. 

He was just happy they were both alive. They were here, together. 

(Aziraphale loved him.)

“But--” Crowley began to argue, always the stubborn one. 

“It’s been a long night. I’d rather not quarrel with you about who’s to blame.” 

Crowley shut his mouth. He hesitated before removing his hand from Aziraphale’s and giving him the bag.

“What’s this?” Aziraphale asked in confusion. 

Crowley fixed his glasses, no longer allowing any sort of access to his eyes. “I know it’s...it’s nothing compared to what you had. But I know how much you loved your books.” 

Aziraphale carefully opened the bag and was shocked to find a small collection of his books. One of them looked burned, he hoped not too badly, but there was a fair amount inside. 

“How did you get these?” 

“I ran inside.” 

Aziraphale felt his eyes widen as he turned back to Crowley, incredulous. “A  _ burning building? _ ” 

“I--Well, I had to make sure you weren’t in there!” 

“And when I wasn’t, you stuck around to get these?!” 

“You would’ve done the same.” 

Aziraphale huffed, closing the bag back up and shoving it into Crowley’s lap. “You harebrained twit!” 

“Oi!” Crowley objected. “Not the response I was looking for.” 

“What did you expect me to say to something so  _ asinine _ ?” 

“A thank you, maybe. Or perhaps, ‘You’re a hero, Crowley. Such a good man. I am ever so lucky to have you.’” He used a high pitch to imitate Aziraphale, and he would have been offended had it been anyone else. 

In any case, Aziraphale’s head was beginning to hurt again, so he simply muttered, “You could’ve been killed.” 

“Well, I’m  _ fine. _ ” 

Aziraphale didn’t want to fight. He’d  _ said _ he didn’t want to fight and look where they were. God, he was so tired. 

Crowley, somehow, noticed his decline. His voice turned soft, and all Aziraphale wanted to do was bury his head in his shoulder and stay there for a very long time, no matter how cold it was. “Since you’ve got no place to go, you could stay at my place. If you’d like.” Then he cringed. “Not  _ my _ place. I sort of got evicted. But a place. With me.” 

Aziraphale’s immediate reaction was,  _ I don’t think my father would like that very much. _

But who gave a fuck what his father thought? He wanted to be with Crowley. And so he gave himself a few seconds to think before saying, “Alright.” 

Crowley seemed just as surprised as Aziraphale felt. He’d dallied with the idea of running away, the idea of never going back, but had never once acted on it. 

“Right,” Crowley said, standing up. “I know a place just down the road that would give us a room.” 

Aziraphale, somewhat gratefully, took back the bag full of books. Crowley seemed to struggle with the trunk, and Aziraphale would have offered to help if he’d felt better. 

Aziraphale realized with startling clarity that, if he could say what he meant to say, this could be the first night of the rest of their lives.

… 

Crowley knew the innkeeper, managed to get him to rent him a room for the night-- _ I’ll get you the money tomorrow, I swear _ , _ my friend is just real tired and he was hurt earlier today _ . Crowley was exceptional at getting his way. 

He was surprised he’d been able to keep track of both the books  _ and _ his telescope this entire time, but he wasn’t about to crush his luck by gloating. He set the trunk down just as Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed. 

There was one bed, and it was small. Crowley opted to retreat. 

“You must be starving,” he said. “I’ll go scrounge something up.”

“Please stay.”

Not the reaction he expected. Aziraphale never turned down an opportunity for food, although, Crowley supposed, this place wasn’t known for its fine dining. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. 

It was all he needed to say. 

Everything Crowley had been holding back, all the guilt and the stress and the fear, came pouring out of him in a very undignified sob. 

He turned away from Aziraphale, couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing this meltdown, and faced the small desk on the other side of the room. 

“Sorry,” he said, trying his hardest to keep the tears inside.  _ Good God the man just wants to sleep, and here you are having a breakdown right in front of him _ . 

To his horror, he heard Aziraphale stand up, and a few seconds later, he touched Crowley’s arm. A soft, comforting touch. It took everything in Crowley not to turn around and wrap his arms around Aziraphale. 

He couldn’t do that. He wasn’t allowed. 

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked, his voice incredibly gentle. 

“‘M fine. It’s fine.”

“My dear…”

It was so much easier to talk to the desk in front of him instead of Aziraphale. “I almost lost you. I don’t know what I would have done if…”  _ If you’d died. If I could never see you again. I love you, I love you, I love you.  _

“I was afraid, too,” Aziraphale said. He maneuvered to hug Crowley from behind, and Crowley wasn’t going to stop him. He liked the feeling of Aziraphale pressed against him, their hands interlocked over Crowley’s stomach. He knew that he shouldn’t, he knew they would part soon, but he could enjoy it now. “But it made me reconsider your offer.”

“My offer?” Crowley repeated. He sniffed. 

“If it still stands, I would be more than happy to run away with you.”

Crowley was dreaming. This had to be a dream, a hallucination. Or maybe he’d died, Beez had really gotten to him, and the afterlife was playing some sort of sick joke on him. 

He let go of Aziraphale’s hand, turning to face him. “You’d be miserable with me.”

Aziraphale rested his hands on the desk, confining Crowley to be between his arms. “Quite the contrary, I believe.”

“I have nothing. Nothing to give you. And I won’t be able to get a good job. The food will be shitty, and you’ll feel dirty all the time, even when you wash there will always be something you can’t  get clean , and you’ll always be wanting for  _ more _ , and I won’t be able to give it to you.”

One of Aziraphale’s hands reached up and touched Crowley’s cheek. He wanted to lean into the touch, wanted Aziraphale to touch him  _ everywhere _ , but that was a terrible idea. Aziraphale would regret it in the morning, and Crowley never wanted Aziraphale to regret him. 

“I’d live,” Aziraphale said. “I’d live because I’d have you.” 

Crowley laughed with self-deprecation. “You really must be tired then.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were filled with hurt and his hand dropped. Shit, Crowley had fucked this up. He’d fucked it up good. 

“You asked me to run away with you just a few weeks ago.”

“And that was.” Crowley licked his lips, searching for the words. “That was rash and it was stupid and you said no.” 

“I’m saying yes now.” 

Crowley could feel himself begin to cry again. He wanted to strangle his tear ducts for being so insensitive. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He was far, far too close. Personal space had been relinquished long ago. “I love you.” 

Crowley tried to lean away from him, his back digging into the damned desk. He shook his head, tears spilling. “I’ll ruin you.”

“No.” Aziraphale touched his hip, and that was too close, Crowley wasn’t going to be able to hold himself back if there was much more of that. “Never.”

“I  _ will _ ,” Crowley tried to insist. “You won’t be able to come back here.”

“I don’t want to come back. I want to go with you.”

“ _ Aziraphale. _ ” His name was released from Crowley’s lips much like a whine, not that Crowley would ever admit to that. 

Aziraphale, suddenly, lifted Crowley so he was sitting on the desk. Aziraphale stood between Crowley’s thighs, and Crowley was focusing all his energy on  _ not _ thinking about that. 

They were at eye level. Crowley was certain Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes through his sunglasses, but he was looking straight at him anyway. 

“I love you.” 

Crowley realized that was the second time Aziraphale had said it. It made his heart jump. 

“I’ll go anywhere with you,” Aziraphale continued. “Out of the city, to a cottage, out of the country, we could go by sea, anywhere you’d like, or to the stars. Crowley, I—” Aziraphale was touching his face again, and this time, Crowley was leaning in, relishing the touches. “I wish to tell you over and over and over again how much you mean to me.”

Crowley was out of excuses. He was out of ways to keep up with Aziraphale’s slow speed, not when Aziraphale was saying things like that. 

There was only one logical way for him to respond. “May I kiss you?” 

Aziraphale smiled—God, he had such a lovely smile, Crowley could write poetry about that smile and he didn’t even like poetry—but before it could get too wide, he leaned in, and he kissed Crowley. Not on the cheek, as he had that night in the garden, but on the lips. 

Crowley had been kissed before, but none of it mattered except for this one. 

Aziraphale was hesitant at first, and Crowley vaguely remembered him saying he’d never been kissed before. Crowley kept his hands firmly on the desk, unsure of how fast Aziraphale wanted to go, and wanting to focus solely on Aziraphale’s lips against his. 

Then, Aziraphale opened his mouth, and Crowley was suddenly not so sure that this was his first kiss. 

Crowley tried to keep himself from moaning into the kiss but was largely unsuccessful. Aziraphale, ever the bastard, grinned, which effectively ended the kiss. He didn’t move away, their lips almost brushing against each other. 

“That was nice,” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley wanted to make a snide comment but lost all his resolve when he glanced down at Aziraphale’s lips. He moved his head forward, bringing their lips together again. 

He wanted to do this all night. If he could stop time and keep Aziraphale here, holding him for eternity, he absolutely would. 

“Wait,” Aziraphale said suddenly, and Crowley pulled back, afraid he’d done something wrong. “Could I take off your glasses?” 

“Oh.” Crowley blinked. “Yeah.” 

He immediately missed Aziraphale’s hands cupping his face, but the tender way he slid his glasses off his nose was enough to make him feel breathless. He set them carefully down at the far end of the desk before turning back to Crowley, his eyes ablaze. 

“I love you, too,” Crowley blurted out because Aziraphale had already said it tonight. He should say it too. 

Aziraphale ran a careful hand through Crowley’s hair, his coy smile never wavering. “I know, darling.”

And then they were back to kissing, which Crowley certainly wasn’t going to complain about, not with Aziraphale’s hands in his hair, his lips exploring every inch of Crowley’s face. Crowley was just doing his best not to make embarrassing sounds, and to keep his amenities to himself. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said against his temple. 

Crowley bit his lip, humming in response. 

“You can touch me,” Aziraphale told him. “Anywhere you’d like.” 

Crowley was definitely dead. Deceased. Passed on. 

As Crowley had lost the ability to function like a normal human being, Aziraphale took the liberty to take Crowley’s hands from the desk and let him hold his waist. 

“Okay?” he asked softly. 

“Yeah, yup, of course,” Crowley replied. What was it like to breathe? Crowley sure didn’t know. 

“You have such a beautiful mouth.”

Crowley’s hands instinctively twitched, but now that he was touching Aziraphale, Aziraphale felt it. 

Aziraphale smiled before pressing a chaste kiss to Crowley’s mouth and then moving down to his chin. “And such a lovely chin.” 

“We’re going to be here all night if you really insist on doing this,” Crowley commented. 

Aziraphale was too busy kissing up the side of his face to reply immediately. “Would that really be so bad?” he finally said, kissing each of Crowley’s cheekbones. 

“No,” he admitted. “But there might be other activities we’d want to get up to.” 

“Are you suggesting…” Aziraphale kissed the middle of his forehead. “...we move to the bed?” 

Crowley could feel his face grow hot. Despite that, he pulled Aziraphale closer to him. “Whatever you want, angel.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am,,, so bad at writing endings but i hope this is passable

When Crowley woke up, he half expected Aziraphale to be gone. The best way to sneak out was when the other party was asleep. That way there weren’t questions, there weren’t arguments. You’d already vanished.

But when he opened his eyes, the morning sun peeking through the window through the tattered curtains, Aziraphale was still sleeping right next to him. The bed was small, the two of them barely fit, and so their limbs were tangled together under the sheet. 

Crowley didn’t know how long he stared at Aziraphale. Time seemed to melt away when Aziraphale was there, looking perfectly angelic. 

When Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open, Crowley was struck, not for the first time, with how beautiful they were. With how beautiful _he_ was.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said, his voice sleepy, a small smile on his lips. 

Crowley was the reason for the smile. He could feel himself blushing. “Hi.” 

“How did you sleep?” 

“Wonderfully. Great. Amazing.” 

Aziraphale reached over and tucked a strand of Crowley’s unruly hair behind his ear. It wouldn’t take long for that strand to fall again, Crowley knew, but that just gave Aziraphale another excuse to touch him. 

“I’m sorry the bed’s so small.” Crowley laughed a little.

Aziraphale brushed his leg against Crowley’s. “I don’t mind.” 

Crowley could stay here forever, in bed (Bed! He was in bed with Aziraphale!), Aziraphale touching his face, their ankles interlocked at the end of the bed. 

“That’s good,” he whispered. There was no need to speak any louder, not with Aziraphale right in front of him. 

Aziraphale hummed in agreement before scooting even closer and touching his lips to Crowley’s. Crowley was on fire, in a good way. In a very good way. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale said against his lips, and Crowley decided he’d never get tired of hearing that.

“Love you, too,” Crowley replied, his words muffled by Aziraphale. But Aziraphale knew. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Aziraphale said after awhile. 

Their noses brushed together. Crowley allowed himself to touch Aziraphale’s curls, which were out of control. He didn’t know how Aziraphale was going to tame them. He didn't mind them looking this way at all, knowing that his fingers and the pillow they shared were the ones to cause the damage. 

“You thought I’d fuck off in the middle of the night?” Crowley tried to pretend he hadn’t worried about the same thing.

“No.” Aziraphale wasn’t lying. “I meant in the general sense. I’m happy to wake up next to you.”

Crowley was shit at words, but he sincerely prayed Aziraphale knew what he meant when he kissed him in response. 

Crowley would have been happy to stay here for the rest of his life. He loved, loved,  _ loved _ kissing Aziraphale and he loved the way Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him. He was allowed to kiss up Aziraphale’s jawline, he was allowed to kiss his neck, he was allowed to move lower--

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said suddenly, his hands nestled in Crowley’s long hair. Crowley, painstakingly, lifted his gaze to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Shouldn’t we get a wiggle on?” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Don’t say that again.” 

“Wiggle on?” 

“Are you really trying to get me out of bed right now?” 

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Well. Maybe not  _ immediately. _ Just in the near future. Might be better to get out of the city sooner rather than later.” 

Crowley was instantly reminded of the real world, where Beez was probably out looking for him, where he had no money and no title, and where if anyone saw him with Aziraphale, he’d be thrown in prison.

“Hey,” Aziraphale said, noticing his expression. He pulled Crowley against his chest and held him there, which had an embarrassingly calming effect on Crowley. “We’re going to be okay.” 

“I know,” Crowley replied, but it was nice to feel Aziraphale so close. 

Aziraphale kissed the top of his head. It really should be illegal for him to make Crowley feel this way, all butterflies and stupid grins. 

“About...about running away,” Crowley said slowly. He was glad he wasn’t looking at Aziraphale. “I don’t exactly have a plan.” 

“You don’t?” 

“No.” 

“But you’ve packed!” 

“Yeah, I was just going to. Get out of here. I don’t know.” 

He felt more than heard Aziraphale’s sigh. Shit, he was probably disappointed. He had expected so much more from Crowley, and Crowley had let him down, and now what were they going to do? 

“I have every confidence,” Aziraphale told him, interrupting his internal monologue. “That you will figure something out in the next couple of hours.” 

“Oh,” was all Crowley could think of saying in response to that. He bit his lip, allowed himself to be held by Aziraphale for a little longer in silence before asking, “So you were serious, then? About coming with me?” 

Aziraphale’s hands stilled. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat.  _ You’re a fuckup you’re a fuckup you’re a-- _

“Of course I was serious. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

It wasn’t meant to be a jab at him. Crowley knew that. His heart dropped anyway, having a mind of its own and never wanting to obey his head. 

Aziraphale gently turned Crowley’s face towards him. “I’m very sorry, my dear boy, that I ever told you no. That I made you believe I didn’t care for you.” 

“S’okay,” Crowley mumbled. 

“It very much isn’t.” 

“I stole from you.  _ I _ lied to you.” 

“I’m willing to leave that in the past if you are.” Aziraphale kissed his nose and Crowley should’ve been embarrassed by it. He was a criminal, not to be kissed on the nose so gently and like it. But, he supposed, he wasn't much of a criminal anymore. “I’m quite biased towards you, my love.” 

_ My _ _love_. That was a new one.  Crowley fought back a grin. He really, truly, had no right to feel this happy. Yet here he was. And if he was going to be optimistic, which he often strived to be, he thought he would be staying that way.

He cleared his throat. “Well, if you’re coming then, I suppose I should mention that Newt will be joining us.” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knit together. “Newt?” 

Crowley realized he might not actually know Newt. “He helped us escape. He’s got nowhere to go, really. I may have invited him with me before…”  _ I knew you’d be coming. _ “Anyway, he’s got nowhere else to go, like us, and he’s a nice kid, really. How useful he is is another conversation, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s fine, honestly…” Crowley realized he was rambling and promptly shut his mouth. 

Aziraphale was smiling at him. “You know, Crowley, I’ve always said that deep down, you really are quite a  _ nice _ person.” 

Crowley squirmed, refusing to look at Aziraphale again. “Shut up.” 

Then, devastatingly, Aziraphale got up from the bed, taking all of his body heat with him, and Crowley was instantly cold. “We should go meet up with Newt, then.” 

Crowley collapsed back onto the pillows, unmotivated to get dressed and leave the room.

“And get breakfast,” Aziraphale added. “I believe we passed a bakery last night.” 

“‘Course you would’ve noticed that.” 

Aziraphale threw Crowley his pair of trousers. “Please put your clothes on.” 

Crowley mumbled his dissent but he did as he was told, anyway.

… 

Anna had been planning what to say to Crowley all night. She fancied herself well-spoken (and, generally, she was correct), but when Crowley mentioned leaving the city, her mouth acted of its own accord and blurted, “I’m coming with you.” 

The three men, Newt, Aziraphale, and Crowley, all shared the same shocked expression. 

“What?” Crowley was the first to speak. “But you-you--” 

Anna sent him a warning glance, telling him to think about his words carefully. Wisely, he shut his mouth before continuing that train of thought, although that might have been because Aziraphale had put a discreet hand on his leg. 

“Why?” Crowley asked after a few seconds.

Anna glanced down at the table. “I have no intention of staying here with you lot gone.” Well, that didn’t really include Newt. She didn’t  _ know _ Newt. But she liked him from what little time they'd spent together, despite his awkwardness. She looked back up at Crowley. “Father will be quick to replace Aziraphale and I do not want to spend the rest of my life in a loveless marriage. I want to see a little bit of the world. Maybe find love on the way. But I’m tired of having my actions be dependent on someone else.” 

Crowley had always been shit at words, so he said nothing. Aziraphale replied for him, “We would be very happy to have you, Anna.”

“Thank you,” she said to Aziraphale. Towards Crowley, she shot him a look that said,  _ See? That’s how you talk to people _ . Crowley glared, which was only evident by the shape of his eyebrows.

“Are you four going to order anything?” An unhappy bartender glowered at them.

Newt, Aziraphale, and Crowley all blanched at the same time. She was certain that none of them had a coin on them. 

“Yes, I’ll take some champagne,” Anna said. 

The bartender seemed just as upset with them as before, but he walked away, presumably to grab the drinks. 

“We don’t have any money _ , _ ” Crowley whispered from across the table. 

Anna rolled her eyes. “Maybe  _ you _ don’t.” 

Crowley considered this. “If you do have money, we shouldn’t be spending it on champagne.” 

Anna readjusted her spectacles. “I know what I’m doing, thank you very much.” 

Crowley did not seem pleased by this, but he, thankfully, did not feel the need to continue to harass her. Aziraphale leaned closer to him, talking in a low voice so neither her nor Newt could hear what they were saying. 

“I’m glad you’re coming,” Newt said in a rush. 

“Really?” she asked. 

He nodded. “I would’ve been a third wheel with those two.” 

She laughed. 

The bartender came back with the champagne. It wasn’t a very good brand, and they were going to be forced to drink it out of tin cups, but Anna had no real qualms with this.

“What do we toast to?” Newt asked the table. 

“To our upcoming adventures,” Anna suggested, clinking her cup against Newt’s. 

“To the world,” Crowley said, but he was staring at Aziraphale.

“To the  _ world _ ,” Aziraphale repeated softly.

It was clear to everyone around them, Anna, Newt, the disinterested bartender, and the other unfortunate souls to find themselves in the bar before 10AM, that they were referring to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this was really fun to write!! thank you to everyone who's read it ESPECIALLY for the comments and kudos; i really appreciate it!  
> follow me on tumblr @theycallmebeaker if you'd like


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